The Fifth Element
by Azure Rose
Summary: AU. Darkness waits at the threshold of the universe for an opportunity to extinguish all life and light. Every five thousand years the universe needs a hero, and in New York City of the 23rd Century, a good hero is hard to find. DaiKen. Based on the film.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing all characters, plots and soap bars belong to their rightful owners.

**Authors note**: As I post this I'm currently working on chapter ten of this story so please don't worry, it will be finished.

**Couples**The main couple is DaiKen (sooooo cute!) however there are many hints at others from Yamari to Taishiro all you have to do is look for them

**Chapter Dedication: **This chapter is dedicated to Forest Girl Kaz. Though the passage of time has moved us away from one another my thoughts often reflect back to you I hope you're well.

**The Fifth Element  
**

It was 1913 and 'The War to End All Wars,' World War I, had not yet begun.

Other wars were raging, though.

The War of The Desert Against the Nile was continuing its eons-old pitched battle here at the desert's edge where the village fields met the dunes; the battle yielding up a little more sand one year, a little more cultivated the next.

The War of Animal Against Man was being fought out by a mule with a girl on its back, slowly plodding along a track leading into the desert, away from the village fields. The mule went slower and slower, until the girl hit him with a stick between the ears, gaining a temporary advantage in the war.

"Go," said Noriko in a native dialect as ancient as the tombs that dotted the landscape. "But not to fast," She added.

The girl was fighting her own war-the eternal War of Youth Against Age. She had been sent to fetch water, and she was in no hurry to get back so that the grown-ups could boss her around some more.

Meanwhile other, deeper wars were gathering, wars of which girls and mules knew not.

The track wound between the dunes, into the desert. The sun burned down on the scattered ruins. None of them had names.

Over the years the ancient tombs and temples came and went, like the clouds, uncovered and then covered again by the shifting sands. It sometimes seemed to Noriko that it was the ruins that moved and not the dunes; for indeed, the eternal desert seemed far more substantial than the tombs and temples that appeared and disappeared at the whim of the elements.

Noriko passed the professor's Model T, buried in the sand up to the tops of its wheels. Later today her uncle would come with a camel to pull it out. At a price.

Noriko and her mule plodded along the bottom of the wadi, and up the rise that led to the new tomb. Even from a distance it was impressive. It was one Noriko hadn't seen before. Her uncle had told her that it had appeared several times in the past, but had been ignored by the grave robbers, since it held no treasure.

"It is not for us," She said.

Noriko's uncle was a tomb robber. The locals robbed tombs and temples for greed. The Europeans came and robbed them for something called science. The Europeans intrigued Noriko. They were more like boys than men. They were cruel as boys, but as quick to laugh. Like boys, they didn't seem to care for gold or silver. The Italian professor was excited by the graffiti he had found as a 'real' robber would have been by circles of gold or baskets of precious stones.

Even half buried in the sand, the temple was extraordinary. Its huge pillared entrance dwarfed the two boys who stood on the sand outside, holding mirrors to reflect the light into the temple (a grave robber's trick).

The boys waved at Noriko as she passed. "Water!" they cried and Noriko stopped to share a few drops from the goatskin bags.

"You're not thirsty!" She cried accusingly, "Just bored. Be thankful you've got a job."

"Quit playing the sahib," Shuu shot back, he held the largest mirror. "You're just a water girl."

Noriko decided to ignore him.

She left the mule in the shade and hurried inside. Noriko knew the professor and his American helper, Michael, would be thirsty. The Europeans drank a lot of water.

The mirrors at the door shone down a long corridor. Noriko walked close to the wall so that she wouldn't block the light.

Another boy held another mirror at the end. His job was to direct the beam inside, and make sure the light followed the professor and his young American around the big chamber.

But the boy was already messing up. His head dropped as he dozed off, made drowsy by the dim light, the bad air, or perhaps the droning of the Italian archaeologist as he explained the hieroglyphics that covered the far wall of the great chamber.

"Hey, Takato!"

The professor's voice resounded through the chamber.

The boy sat up, his light flashing wildly around the inside of the room like silver lightning.

"You must pay attention!" Professor Pacoli called.

"Yeah, Takato!" Noriko whispered. She paused in the doorway, savouring the last moment of freedom before the grown-ups saw her. She was enchanted by the sight of the chamber with its far wall covered with scratching. In the darkness they looked like graffiti; yet when the light struck them they seemed to glow with magic, with promises, with power.

The professor stood on a rickety ladder pointing out the ideographs, while the young American, Michael, drew them in his sketchbook.

Noriko liked Michael. She liked to watch him work. Michael drew without even looking down at the sketchbook in his hand, and yet, his drawings were almost perfect as the new 'photographs' Noriko had seen in a 'magazine' from Cairo.

Noriko figured the scientists (who loved the new) would have used photographs, but the light was to dim in the temple. Noriko picked up her goatskins again, and started to cross the room when she felt a bony hand land her shoulder.

She stared and jumped- then she looked back and saw a slight, stooped familiar figure. Noriko knew the old priest. He had been around for years, living at the edge of the desert. He wasn't quite European, but not quite Egyptian either. The priest gently lifted the goatskin bag of Noriko's shoulder.

"I will take it to them, my daughter."

Noriko nodded and handed over the water bag. The old priest made her nervous, though she didn't know why.

"Go with God," Said the priest, making the sign of the cross on the girl's forehead.

He left her in the shadows and crossed with the goatskin, toward the ladder where the Italian was going through the script, character by character: "…when the three planets are in eclipse," the professor said, his fingers travelling lightly across the strange characters, almost as if her where reading Braille. "The black hole, like a door, is open. Evil comes…sowing terror and chaos!"

He reached up and pointed to an ideograph of a snake slithering between three planets. The ladder rocked and almost fell.

"See, Michael?" he said to the young man with the sketchbook. "The snake, Michael. Make _sure_ you get the snake!"

Michael sketched without looking down, his hand swift and his strokes sure.

"And just when is this snake act supposed to occur?" he asked dryly.

The professor ignored his sarcasm. He turned back toward the wall and ran his fingers along the script. "If this is the five, and this is the thousand…every five thousand years!"

"So we have some time then." Michael replied cynically.

The old priest paused, halfway across the chamber. He winced when he heard the sarcasm in the young American's voice.

_If only he knew!_ For a moment, the priest wavered in what he was about to do. The young man was ignorant, after all. And ignorance was a kind of innocence. He knew nothing. Then he heard the professor's words, droning on as he followed then script:

"So here we have these different peoples or symbols of people, gathering together these four elements of life: water, fire, earth, air…"

The professor's fingers paused on the one ideogram that had a human shape.

"Around a fifth one, a Fifth Element,"

And the priest knew what he had to do what he was about to do.

He pulled the ancient vial out of the pocket of his rough black cassock. He opened it, and winced at the sharp smell that emerged from the dry powder. He opened the goatskin water bag as the professor droned on:

"It's like all these people gave something from themselves to make this _being_…"

"Lord forgive me," whispered the priest as he shook the powder from the vial into the waterbag. "They already know too much. Far too much!"

The professor looked down from the ladder and noticed him for the first time.

"Father Gennai!" He said, "It's the most extraordinary thing! The greatest find in history! I mean look…"

The priest nodded gravely.

Excited by his own words, the professor dropped his voice, and slowed his speech to the cadence of a prayer: "Here the Good, here the Evil and here-"

He pointed to the symbols of the four elements, arrayed around a central figure.

"A weapon against Evil! Amazing! I am going to be famous!"

"Then let us toast your fame!" The priest said. "Here Michael…" He handed the young artist the cup, and pored another for the professor. Michael began to drink as the professor climbed down the ladder.

"Drink!" said the priest, handing the professor another cup. The professor raised it. "To fame! Salud…"

But then-

He lowered the cup without tasting it, "We cannot toast with water. Michael! In my knapsack-the grappa!"

The priest watched, horrified, as the professor threw his water onto the floor of the temple. Michael drained his cup and ran off into the corridor.

A _fitting beginning, _thought the priest, disconsolate. _I have killed the innocent one!_

_Not bad_, thought Michael. Usually the water from the goatskin tasted too much of, well, of goat, to please his palate.

But this was sweeter.

Perhaps the watergirl, Noriko, had drawn it from a better well. Or perhaps this goatskin was less foul than usual. _Whatever,_ Michael thought, as he scurried thought the long corridor that led out toward the brilliant light of the desert sun. He shielded his eyes to avoid the mirrors' glare.

Halfway down the corridor, he found the professor's bag. He was bending down to open it when he heard a muffled sound, and the light changed.

Something was happening outside the temple.

A sudden storm? _Impossible,_ Michael thought. There were no sudden storms here. Egypt was not like New York, where a thunderstorm could blow up and blow over in minuets. Here the heat was restless, and the few clouds that appeared stayed high, as if fearing that if they came to low the people would pluck them from the sky and squeeze out whatever little moisture they held.

Michael was feeling dizzy. Was that lightning? Was that thunder? The muffled sounds were getting louder.

Michael unzipped the bag and found the machine gun the consulate had asked the professor to carry. The professor, who hated guns, had loaded it but left it in the bag. It was Sten-the latest model.

Underneath the Sten gun was the grappa. The bottle had lost over an inch and a half since the morning. Michael had often suspected the professor used it to 'facilitate' his translations of the hieroglyphics. _Doesn't matter to me, _thought Michael. He would be back home in New York in a few months, unless-

But why was he feeling so dizzy?

The entrance to the temple was darkened now, and the 'thunder' grew louder and louder.

Then stopped.

Michael crept closer to the door. The boys, who had been holding the mirrors were staring up, dumbfounded. Michael looked up and saw an immense metal ship was opening.

What came out was- not human.

"This perfect person," The professor read. "This perfect being…"

He turned toward the old priest, who stood with his eyes closed and his fingertips touching, arched in an image of a steeple.

"I know this is the key," The professor said. "But I do not understand it. _Perfect?_"

"Perfect means perfect," offered the priest.

The boys ran off into the dunes, screaming. Michael ran back into the shadows of the temple. He didn't know what he was running for- his life, his sanity, or his sketchpad, which he had set down by the professor's bag. He was bending over to pick it up when he heard footsteps behind him in the corridor.

Whatever they were, they were coming in!

Pressing against the wall, Michael hid in the shadows as a line of huge figures moved swiftly past. They seemed to be moving slowly, yet they passed in an instant, as if they occupied a different Time.

Arrayed in glowing metallic armour, they were as massive as eight-foot turtles walking upright, though they moved with surprising speed and grace. They seemed headless- until Michael saw the small, bird-like heads that grew from the canters of their massive chests.

Michael reached into the professor's bag. His fingertips were tingling. He was dizzy.

Could it be that all this was a nightmare?

The dream turned to a cold reality as his fingers closed on the steel of the Sten.

"And this divine light the hieroglyphics talk about," The professor began. "What is _divine light?_"

At that moment, as if on cue, the chamber fell dark. A vast rumbling filled the air. The walls of the temple shook.

"Takato!" called the professor, without turning. "Light!"

Suddenly the chamber was filled with light.

"Much better!" The professor praised, from his ladder, "Thank you, Takato."

The professor continued to read the markings on the wall. The light was stronger than ever, revealing even more subtlety in the inscription

"Father, this is the most unbelievable thing I have ever seen," The professor said. "Don't you…" The professor turned and saw why the priest wasn't answering. He was keeling in front of a large _thing_ that looked almost like a man. Almost, but not quite. It was eight feet tall and massive as a grizzly- in armor.

"…think?" the professor finished, as two strong hands (well, almost hands) grabbed him under his arms and lifted him off the ladder. "Are you German?" demanded the professor, his legs kicking futilely in the air.

No answer.

"_Sprechen sie Deutsch?_" the professor gasped.

No answer.

_Where was_ Michael? Panicked, the professor looked around. A dozen more _things_ stood around the walls, holding glowing globes that lighted the chamber. The old priest was lying flat on the floor. The professor had always figured he was Christian- Coptic, maybe, or one of those weird desert sects. But he seemed to be worshipping the leader of the _things_, who was standing over him. He was _talking_ to it…

"Lord," said the priest. "He was about to discover everything. But I had the situation under control." He lay on the cold stone floor, looking up at the Mondoshawan commander.

The Mondoshawan held out his hand and helped the old priest to his feet. His voice was deep but surprisingly gentle. "Servant," he said, "you and the thousand guards before you have done your work well. But war is coming."

"War?" The priest shivered.

A tiny distant nod.

"We must keep them safe…"

"Keep who safe? Keep what safe?" asked the professor, trying unsuccessfully to keep his voice from squeaking. It was surprising how little dignity one had when one's feet couldn't touch the floor. The_ thing_ leader didn't answer. Instead it walked to the wall covered in hieroglyphics, and slid its hand along the smooth surface as if looking for an opening.

An opening that was not-could not-be there.

But it was.

"Unbelievable!" breathed the professor as the _thing_ slid a metallic finger into the opening. The wall groaned and slid open, with a grating sound of stone on the sand.

The two _things_ set the professor down. While he was still struggling to find his balance, their leader stepped through the door. The professor was just about to follow when one of the _things_ that had stayed behind waved its great metallic hand over his head. Gently, like a prayer or spell. And he slumped to the floor unconscious.

The old priest had never been in this inner room before. It was made of a different material from the heavy, reddish stone that had formed the outer chamber of the temple. The walls were smooth and bright, like luminous marble. They rose to form a steep pyramid, with four sides.

In each corner of the room was a rectangular twelve-inch stone. Each glowed with a different colour; red, green, blue, and yellow.

In the centre of the room was a luminous sarcophagus, resting on a low alter. The Mondoshawan leader stopped at the altar and gazed down the sarcophagus reverently, as if to confirm that even the gods have gods.

The old priest stood at his side.

"The Fifth Element," whispered the priest, his words holy, and softer than a prayer.

The Mondoshawan leader nodded, showing what might have been a smile. He took a case from one of his followers- a simple metal briefcase made out of what seemed to be aluminium, except that it looked warm. He opened the case and held it out. Four Mondoshawans went to the four corners of the doom, and brought their leader the four glowing stones, one by one. The stones fit into the case perfectly.

"Kommander-"

The leader closed the case and looked at the priest wordlessly.

"If you take the weapon, we will be defenceless if the Evil returns," Said the priest slowly.

The Mondoshawan nodded. "If the Evil returns, so will we."

The priest nodded and lowered his eyes.

"Hands up!!"

The voice came from the doorway.

The old priest turned and saw the professor's young assistant, Michael. The artist. But instead of holding his sketchpad and pencil, he was brandishing an evil-looking weapon.

"Nobody move!" Michael cried.

He staggered into the room as if drunk. Only the old priest knew that he was reeling from the effects of the poison in his water.

"Nobody move!" Michael shouted. "I'm warning you. I have a gun. And I know how to use it. Let the priest go!"

_He thinks he's saving me_, the priest thought amazed. _And it is I who doomed him!_

He ran across the room toward the young man. "No, my son!" He shouted. "The Mondoshawan are our friends. They come in peace. Put the gun down!"

"Friends!?" Michael hissed. He pointed behind him, to the professor's body on the floor of the outer chamber. "They killed the professor. They're monsters!"

"No, Michael!"

The priest slowed to a walk. The young man was swaying dangerously from side to side. The gun was waving precariously.

The priest held out his hand.

"Trust me!" he said in his most authoritative tone. "Put the gun down!" But the old priest's slow movements seemed to terrify than reassure Michael.

He backed up: "No. You're one of them! You're…"

He tripped, stumbled, fell- and as he fell the Sten gun clutched in his hands sprayed the ceiling and the walls of the inner room with a wild rain of bullets: _Bratabratabrat!_

"No!" Shouted the priest. "Don't!"

Stinging sprays of rock and sand, thrown up by the bullets, stung the old priest's cheeks. Behind him, he saw the Mondoshawan leader take a bullet and fall. The others closed in around him. Michael fell backward through the door, into the outer chamber. His head hit the stone floor with a crack.

It was over almost as soon as it had begun. Michael lay on the floor of the outer chamber, unconscious. The priest made the sign of the cross, then looked up.

The door was closing.

"Hurry!" The priest called anxiously. He ran to the side of the Mondoshawan leader, who had taken several hits from the Sten gun. Although there was not blood, the priest could hear the slow hissing as the alien's vital gases sublimated into the dry desert air.

The priest tired to pull the Mondoshawan leader to his feet, but it was like trying to move a piano. The leader handed the metal case to one of his followers. Another was already carrying the sarcophagus from the altar out through the closing door.

"Hurry!" the priest repeated.

The Mondoshawan leader shook his tiny head, slowly and yet firmly.

"Servant," he hissed weakly, "here is your mission now. Keep the temple ready. Pass on the knowledge as it was passed to you."

"I will do as you command," the priest answered. "But please hurry! You still have time."

The Mondoshawan rose off the stone floor, and pushed the priest through the rapidly closing door. "Time is of no importance," he said solemnly. "Only life is important."

"But…"

The door closed on the Mondoshawan leader's hand. The finger that was also a key snapped off. It was like a bell when it hit the floor at the priest's feet.

The mule was braying frantically, terrified. Noriko tired to quiet him, then backed up to get a better look at the gigantic ship. It was three times longer than any ships of the Europeans, and it stood straight up on the sand. Then with a roar, it was gone. Very slowly…and yet all at once.

Dazed, Noriko followed Takato into the temple. The corridor was dark. The door that had opened was closed, and the chamber was as it had been. The mirror still lay where Takato had dropped it, reflecting the light from the setting sun. One of the Mondoshawans' globes was in the corner, its light slowly fading. It popped like a soap bubble, and was gone.

The professor was crumpled on the floor, snoring noisily. Michael looked dead, but he was breathing, too. The old priest was kneeling in front of the scratchings on the wall. His hands were held upward in prayer-or triumph, maybe. Or despair. He held up a crooked metallic finger. Or maybe it was a key.

"I will be ready, my lord," he whispered boldly. "If the evil returns."

He pointed toward three suns on the sandstone wall.

End Prologue

Hope you all enjoyed. More soon.


	2. Chapter One

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing. This fic is based of the film/book 'The Fifth Element'

**Authors Note**: I'd like to thank RumorUnderOath and Locaia for their kind reviews, this chapter is for you . Don't worry there will be Ken and Daisuke action soon!

The Fifth Element

Chapter One

Exactly five hundred years later, the same three suns glowed on the digital control screen of a United Federation starship.

The coordinates projected from them, plotted by the fuzzilogical implicator imbedded in the EPROM chips of the starship's calculators, crossed at one point in the emptiness called space.

A captain, wearing a colourful uniform of the United Federation Space Command, stood on the bridge, studying the crossed lines with a worried air. The control screen was his only view out of the ship, since the windows of the bridge were opaqued by a protective energy shield. A door slid open and shut behind him.

General Shuu of the UF Central Command entered the bridge. The arrogance and impatience of the headquarters military brass was apparent in the tone of his query, "Anything yet?"

"No, sir," the captain replied curtly. The resentment of the line officers to headquarters interface could be heard in his reply.

"Not even a temperature?" The general had been debriefed by his analyst earlier that morning, and he hoped his question reflected both the depth of his concern and the breadth of his knowledge.

The captain shook his head. "Our thermo-analyzers have jammed. One of them reads over a million degrees, and the other's at minus five thousand."

Shuu turned to the grizzled old man with one runny eye who had been his representative on the bridge in his absence. "Major Mik?"

"Never seen anything like it," Mik said, or rather, growled.

A technician on a nearby terminal broke in: "It's taking shape!"

"Let's see it," said Shuu.

"Shield," Ordered the captain.

A tech slid a fingertip along a control strip. The stars appeared, one by one, as the shield powered down. The captain and the others on the bridge were looking out on an unmapped sector of the galaxy. And in the center of it…

An amoebic, moving mass, swirling like a storm. Something between a planet, an embryonic star, and a black hole. Its writhing shape, continually changing, evoked every horror in the universe. It altered colour as it roiled and bubbled- a hideous amalgam of decaying rose, rancid green, cold blue, blood red, and gangrenous purple.

It was all the colours of death, come to life. The captain had expected it. In fact, it was he who had reported the new disturbance in the sector. Yet even he was terrified and awestruck at the grotesque sigh before him.

"What the hell can it be?" He asked.

"Send out a probe," said Shuu, in a voice that was clearly accustomed to being obeyed.

Light years away, high in the web of towers that was the office of the President Jou Kido; the leader of the United Federation, a rustling was heard.

The unmistakeable sound of power.

The President entered. He embodied the authority of his office, though he looked lanky and the glasses that sat on the end of his nose swayed dangerously as he entered, his eyes held wisdom of a man many years older than he was himself. He had been elected in a time of peace, out of the public nostalgia for the lost simplicities of interstellar conflict. But now a new conflict had arrived, even though no one knew what it was, from whence it came, or what-if anything-it meant.

"On air with Shuu in thirty seconds," whispered his auburn haired aide, though she seemed meek, the girls brown eyes glittered with a strange sense of calm.

The President nodded and sat down at his massive desk, "Thank you Sora." He replied simply. His office was crowed with uniformed military men, scientists, aides, techs, and advisers.

In the midst of them, all but unnoticed, was a red headed priest whose red hair stood out boldly, but not loudly, against his black cassock, he was attended by a young novice with wild, burly, brown hair.

The young man whispered in the priest's ear, "I'll find a seat for you, Father Koushirou."

"Thank you, Taichi, my son."

The young novice rolled his eyes at the priest, who liked to pretend he was so many years older than he. But, as a young priest, he, Taichi, had to show some respect, no matter how daft Koushirou looked bossing around a boy with several inches of height on him.

A screen lit up at one end of the room, like a doorway to the far reaches of the galaxy; as indeed it was, since it showed the bridge of a distant starship, where an identical screen was opening to show the President's office.

"President on the line, sir!"

General Shuu looked at the screen, across a wilderness of light years, at the President and his guests.

"We're in position, Mr. President," he said.

The President's sharp but cool voice laced its way into both rooms. "I have to address the Supreme Council in ten minutes. Just the facts, General."

"There are no results from the chemical and molecular analysis as yet," said Shuu. "All the calibres are overshot. We're initiating a thermonucleatic imaging-"

The President broke in. "What you're saying is that you don't know what it is?"

Shuu seemed, if anything, relieved. "Not yet, Sir. The only thing we know is that it just keeps getting bigger!"

A murmur rippled through the ranks in the President's office. Priest Izumi and his young apprentice kept their eyes glued to the screen. The president turned to face his staff.

"Options!" he said. It was neither a statement nor a question; it was a command.

"Wait or act," said the general, stepping forward. The President turned back toward the screen.

"Shuu. Recommendations?"

Shuu considered for only a moment before answering. "My philosophy, Mr. President, is shoot first and ask questions later. I don't like uninvited guests."

The President swivelled in his chair. He sent his next question over the heads (literally) of the military men, addressing the scientists who stood behind them. "Gentlemen?"

The scientists shuffled and cleared their throats. The boldest stood on his tiptoes to speak. "I think it would be foolish to shoot at an organism that seems to be alive, without first taking time to study it more. Besides, it has shown no signs of hostility."

There was a murmur of protest from the military men on both sides of the screen. The President quieted them with a barely perceptible wave of his hand. "No…" he agreed. "It's just getting bigger."

"So do people," said the scientist, reddening. "But that's no reason to shoot them!"

President Jou seemed exasperated by this reply. "The security of the Federated territories is, and remains, number one priority." He commanded strongly. Then he lowered his voice to address his gathered generals once more. "I suppose General Shuu's 'philosophy' is acceptable to you?"

As one, they all nodded.

President Jou wheeled in his chair. "All right then. Shuu?"

Suddenly a voice broke through from the back of the room. "Mr. President?"

The military men parted like the Red Sea, and a small red-headed priest, with a strange silver amulet around his neck approached the desk. His wild haired apprentice followed closely behind, eyeing the military men carefully.

"Yes?" asked the President.

"Izumi," said the priest, stepping forward to introduce himself. "Koushirou Izumi. I have a different theory to offer you, Mr. President."

President Jou seemed simultaneously amused and irritated by this interruption. His aide, Sora, bent and whispered into his ear: "From the religious delegation, sir."

The President of the United Federation, elected guardian of 200 billion souls, both human and otherwise, studied the young men who had forced themselves into his circle of attention. "You have twenty seconds," he said.

If his fierce look was designed to intimidate the diminutive priest, it didn't work.

"Imagine for a moment," Koushirou began, "that this _thing_ is not anything that can be identified, because it prefers not to be. Because it is evil. Totally evil."

The President shrugged and pushed his glasses up his nose. "One more reason to shoot first, eh?" The generals nodded in perfect, simultaneous agreement.

Father Koushirou shook his head. "Evil begets evil, Mr. President. Shooting would only make it stronger."

There was a flurry of activity on the screen. The President turned to watch. "The probe will attain its objective in five seconds!" announced an excited tech on the bridge of the starship.

"Drop the shield," muttered the starship's captain, and the tech's finger slid along the control strip. The starship's windows went clear, and for the first time the mass was visible on the screen in the President's office.

A gasp went up.

Followed by a breathless silence as the blinking light of a probe drew closer and closer to its objective. Then a groan as the probe disappeared into the tumorous darkness- and the strange, evil mass began to boil and bubble even more furiously.

"Mr. President," cried General Shuu. "We're at a crisis point!"

"Growth rate is at twenty-seven percent!" put in a panicked technician.

All eyes in both rooms- the office and the bridge of the starship- were on President Jou Kido.

Who seemed puzzled.

Without turning back toward the priest, he said politely, "Your theory is interesting, Father Izumi, but I don't think we have time to go into it right now."

"Time is of no importance," said Father Koushirou, "Only life is important."

"That's exactly what we are going to do," said the President. "Protect the lives of some 200 billion of our fellow citizens!" He spun in his chair as if to put a period on his conversation with the red-headed priest. "General-you may fire when ready!"

A silence fell over the room. Taichi and Priest Izumi stood exactly where the President hand left them, between his chair and the rank of the sycophantic generals. All eyes on the screen at the far end of the office, which showed the bridge of the starship. Shuu was giving orders. He was all business.

"Up front loading of a 120ZR missile. Marker lights on objective." As he spoke, something was changing outside the starship's windows. The amoeba-like, rolling, boiling mass was taking on solid form. It was becoming a planet, covered with a null black crust. A technician looking at a control terminal reading out confirmed what people were witnessing with their own eyes.

"Its structure just solidified on the surface." From the second tier of watchers in the President's office, a scientist spoke out, sending his words over the military men. "I think it's anticipating the attack." He said excitedly. "Anticipation denotes intelligence!"

Another, quieter voice was heard- the priest's who added: "The most terrible intelligence imaginable, Mr. President."

On hearing this, the President hesitated. But he didn't turn away from the screen. "Shuu?"

"Yes, sir!" The general turned to face the President. He was all action, seeming to tingle from the toes of his boots to the tips of his blunt fingers. The President looked around the room: from the generals, to the scientists, to his own aides, to the priest and his wild haired apprentice who stood apart, patiently watching.

"I have a doubt," said President Jou, pushing his glasses up his nose again.

"I don't, Mr. President," muttered Shuu in reply.

And before his orders could be countermanded he nodded toward the tech at the starship's control board, who touched a switch-

The screen was filled with a brilliant light as the missile was fired. The light faded to a pinprick as the 120ZR sped away, covering a thousand kilometres with a single leap, thanks to its cold-fusion faux-warp drive. It blinked briefly in and out of realspace as it zeroed in on its massive target. The just before impact, it shifted down from hyper to fusion drive, and with a chemical blast penetrated the evil black mass. Following the lead of Shuu and the starship crew, President Kido and his entourage covered their eyes so that they wouldn't be blinded by the explosion.

Except there was no explosion.

The missile penetrated the black mass and was swallowed. There was a slight disturbance on the surface, and then-

Nothing.

But not quite nothing.

For immediately the dark planet began to grow again, at an even faster rate than before.

"Prepare to fire three," General Shuu barked. "Load a series of 240ZR missiles. Maximum shield protection."

"Yes sir," said the captain behind him.

"Shuu," said the President. "What's going on? Can you destroy it?"

"I'm about to, Mr. President." The General gave a nod, and the tech at the control board flipped three switches. There was a flash of light, three times as bright as before. This time three pinpricks of light headed toward their hideous target. The missiles flickered in and out of existence as they covered the distance at a high fraction of the speed of light. And they were absorbed as easily, as quietly, as effectively, as the first missile had been. Except this time, the dark planet immediately doubled in size.

A panicked voice came from the row of scientists in the President's office. "The planet's diameter has increased by two hundred percent!" It was echoed by a shout from the rank of Generals: "And it's moving toward the ship!"

This was enough for President Jou, who rolled forward in his chair and shouted at the screen as his glasses slipped down his nose, "Shuu! Get out of there now before you're killed! Do you hear me, Shuu?"

Shuu was pretending not to hear. He turned to the starship captain. "What do we have that's bigger than 240?"

"Nothing, General."

Jou didn't know whether to be furious or to panic for his crews safety, he continued to shout to his stubborn General in hopes to get through to the man, "Shuu, get out of there! That- That's an order!" The volume of his voice triggered the voice-activated viewscreen zoom, so that the entire screen was filled with Shuu's face. His forehead was damp with sweat.

And something else.

A think black liquid was beading up on his brow, starting to drip down slowly, like syrup…

Shuu was just about to reach up and wipe his brow, when a tremendous flash filed the screen. The photosensitive zoom pulled back, and the screen showed the bridge of the starship again. Everyone was frozen with terror, watching a tongue of flame emerge from the black planet. It reached toward the starship. Closer and closer.

"Good God!" Shuu cried.

And the starship was obliterated in a storm of light and noise.

"Good God!" cried President Jou- and behind him, in a smaller voice, the red-headed priest whispered it more as a prayer than an exclamation-

"Good God!"

End Chapter One

More soon


	3. Chapter Two

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing

**Authors Note**: Yo ho ho I'm back again with chapter two! Hope your all enjoying it, let me know if you are or aren't (Not that I'm gonna stop if your not :P) this chapter follows on directly after chapter one so if you forgot what happened go read it again! And we have Daisuke in this chapter! Yaaaaay! Not much longer before the gorgeous Ken-chan makes his entrance (in style might I add!)

**Note**: Scene change (though it's kinda obvious but meh!)

The Fifth Element

Chapter Two

"Good God!"

Daisuke Motomiya sat up in his bed.

There had been a blinding light, a tremendous explosion, and…Daisuke shuddered and shook his head.

Another nightmare.

He looked over at the clock on the bedside table. "Bring!' it said.

"Hush!" said Daisuke, flicking it with one finger as he reached for a half opened packet of pocky which sat next to his matches.

"March 18, 2413,' said the clock. '8:00 A.M'

"I know, I know," Daisuke whined.

"Meow" mewed his pet cat from the hall. There was a scratching sound as the small white feline tried to dig its way into the apartment.

"I'm coming," Daisuke said irritably, nightmares, clocks and cats, what next! The phone started ringing with an ear shattering pitch.

Everything at once!

He picked up the phone as he crossed his tiny modular apartment room towards the door, chewing thoughtfully on his sweet treat. Behind him the bed made itself.

Daisuke was a well-built man in his mid twenties, his short burgundy hair which sprung about wildly on his head, only after a few swipes with a comb did the mess settle down, he was very good looking in spite of the light scars on his face and arms that revealed a somewhat more adventurous than judicious nature.

"Yeah?" he said into the phone, swallowing his mouthful and tucking the matches into his front pocket.

"Hey bud!" said a familiar voice, "Wallace here!" His oldest friend and now his cab dispatcher.

Daisuke wedged open the stuck cat door and a small yellow eyed cat ran in. "Hi sweetie." He said.

"I love you to, Major but you haven't called me that since we were dating back during basic training."

"Not you, Wallace. I was talking to the cat." Now looking for his cigarettes (which he was supposed to have given up) Daisuke opened a drawer in the bedside table. It was filled with medals.

He unrolled a paper. A medal of Honour certificate, made out to Major Daisuke Motomiya. _For valour above and beyond the…_

"Oh, yea, I forgot," Said Wallace. "You prefer your pet cat to the real thing."

Daisuke unrolled another paper. A faded photograph of him with his ex-boyfriend. _Beautiful, if slightly predatory…_

"At least the cat comes back," Daisuke replied. He dropped the picture into a drawer and it rolled itself back up. Under a tangle of campaign ribbons, he found an old fashioned packet of cigarettes, the box unfortunately was empty.

"You still pining for that two-timing boy whore?" Wallace asked. "Forget him. There are millions of men and women out there."

"I don't want a million," said Daisuke. He eyed the matches which were kinda useless now but tucked the back into his pocket. "I just want one. A perfect one."

"Don't exist, bud."

Daisuke pulled out another photo. Two men in uniform, standing in front of a batwing space fighter. "Just found a picture of us," He quipped down the phone to Wallace.

"How do I look?"

Daisuke threw the cigarette box into the trash, "Like shit."

"Must be an old picture," Wallace replied, "Listen up-"

Daisuke crossed to the refrigerator and opened it in search of something more filling than half a bar of pocky. It was bare except for a single empty container of Gemini Croquettes. He picked it up and studied the banner over the label: "_Win a dream trip for two to Fhloston Paradise!_"

"I'm listening," Daisuke muttered, closing the refrigerator.

"You gotta bring me your hack for the six month overhaul," said Wallace, "I need the cab Daisuke, ASAP!"

Daisuke crossed to the tiny sink and turned on the tap. A dribble of brown water came out. "Don't need an overhaul." He replied almost sulkily.

"Sure you do."

Daisuke filled a pan with brackish water and put it on the stove. The burner lit automatically.

"You're forgetting who sat next to you for a thousand missions," Wallace continued, "I know how you drive."

"Wallace!" Daisuke moaned as he scoffed the last chunk of his pocky, "I'm driving a cab now, not a space fighter!"

"How many points you got left on your license?"

"Um…" Daisuke calculated a lie. "At least thirty."

"In your dreams. See you tonight!" The phone clicked at Wallace hung up. Daisuke sighing, did the same.

The water was boiling. Daisuke dropped in a pill of instant Colombian. He took the saucepan off the burner and set it on the tiny three-legged table. The burner blazed on merrily. Daisuke slapped the stove. The burner shut itself off.

"Meow." The cat jumped on the table and eyed its cat bowl. Daisuke scratched the small kitty behind the ear and set a bowl before it. He poured half the instant coffee into his own cracked cup, and half into the cats bowl.

"Sorry sweetie, that's all I have."

"Meow"

Daisuke tapped his cup against the cat's bowl.

"Cheers."

The office of the President of the United Federation was quite. The wall screen was powered down- transparent. Beyond it, the towers of Manhattan soared into the dirty sky. Only a few military officers remained, standing in a line in their bright uniforms, nodding in unison like soon-to-be-extinct birds.

The President was busy ignoring them.

He was bent over his massive desk, examining an ancient sketchbook. The red-haired priest, Koushirou Izumi, was turning the pages slowly. Taichi, his apprentice was watching closely.

"You have forty-eight hours," Koushirou began. "The time it needs to adapt itself to our living conditions."

"And then?" Jou asked pushing his glasses up his nose, his pale face laced with worry.

"And then it will be too late," said the priest. "The goal of this thing is not to fight for money or power. Its goal is to wipe out life. All forms of life!"

"But why?"

The luminous black eyes of the priest gazed off into space- or inward toward some dark mystery. "I wish I knew."

Across the room, the incoming signal on the viewscreen was beeping. The screen slowly began to become opaque, obliterating the view of taxi-cabs and traffic flitting among the towers,

"So what you are telling me, Father." The President said, "is that there is nothing we can do to stop this?"

"There is only one thing." Koushirou looked toward the screen. "And it is on its way."

Light years away, in a remote sector of the galaxy, a mile-long starship was speeding toward Earth, the home planet of the United Federation. It was picked up and locked on by DEW (Distant Early Warning) scanners.

It was operated by a race little known to Earth, but well known to the red-haired priest, who was explaining the best he could, to the President…

"This is a Mondoshawan," Father Koushirou said, showing the drawing of the alien that had been made in the temple by Michael, five hundred years before. Jou studied the round, bulky, body; the tiny triangular head. "The Mondoshawans have in their possession the only weapon that can defeat the Evil that is upon us."

"Which is?" Whispered Jou, leaning forward to catch every word the priest would utter.

Koushirou directed his gaze to the book as he turned the page. "The four elements- Earth, air, fire and water- gathered around a Fifth Element. The supreme Being, the ultimate warrior, created to protect life."

Jou raised a brow and looked sceptically at the page, lest it be said he was expecting something else. The page showed a human figure encased in armour. Metallic gloves held a case engraved with the emblem of the three suns.

"The case holds the Sacred Stones. Together with the Fifth Element, they produce what the ancients called the Light of Creation, able to bring life to the farthest reaches of the Universe. But if Evil stands here-"

He pointed to the Fifth Element.

"Then what?" Asked the President impatiently. Koushirou looked up into the man's eyes. "White turns to black. Light to dark. Life to death. For all eternity."

"Mr. President…"

Jou turned and saw one of his generals holding a blinking cell phone. "We have a Mondoshawan spaceship at the frontier requesting permission to enter Federation territory."

The President looked at the diminutive priest who had brought such immense news- and then at the generals, "I guess I should make a decision," he began.

"Sir!" said the general, covering the phone. "These Mondoshawans do _not_ belong to the United Federation. We do not know their intensions. I recommend an immediate military interception before…"

The President broke in angrily, a tone not often heard by the otherwise calm man.

"Did you see that _thing_ swallow our starship like a gumdrop? You can't even tell me what it is! I ask you for options and you give me bullshit!" Jou blushing slightly at the use of such language slammed his fist against the desk. Koushirou jumped back and Taichi scowled at the general who shrank at the anger directed toward him.

"Send them my permission to enter our territory. With my warmest regards."

Koushirou let out a long sigh and smiled at his apprentice, "Thank you Mr. President," he whispered, closing the ancient sketchbook he carried with him.

Picture, if you will, a ship as large as a small city, entering a star system to which has been granted access. At the controls are the Mondoshawan elders, those who have taken it as their sacred trust to guard the Universe against its greatest Evil- which manifests itself every few millennia.

The Mondoshawan are a race so serene, so philosophical, so untroubled by small corruptions and infelicities that their appearance, while it might seem ungainly or even ugly to some, has a soothing effect on all they encounter; for underneath their rude exterior shines the demeanour of a fully evolved race that has made peace with itself and with the universe.

The Mondoshawan ship reflects the grandeur of its builders. It is large, a little ungainly, but stately in it movements and steadfast in its purposes.

But the ship is not alone. Following it, a little way above and behind, are two nasty looking warships that look like killer jellyfish.

Mangalore Warships.

Now imagine, if you will, a race of beings so ugly that evolution has provided them with temporary shape shifting powers, so that they can look in the mirror without suffering the shock of seeing themselves.

The Mangalores have developed their evasive genius to a high art, and are using it to hide from the Mondoshawan space ship. They are following above and behind (Behind in time as well as space, and above in space as well as time), and closing fast.

The Mangalore at the controls is about to experience his race's greatest joy. Total destruction. For the Mangalore, there is no greater pleasure than to destroy something more beautiful than itself. And that includes everything in the universe.

And this time he's even getting paid for it!

This is a plethora, a cornucopia of delights. He is going to destroy the Mondoshawan ship from behind, without warning. Sneakiness is its own reward.

He hits the controls with an almost sexual thrill (sex among the Mangalores is intimately linked with killing) and pulls down.

A blast.

A hit.

Confusion reigns aboard the Mondoshawan ship. For while the Mondoshawan are reconciled to their own deaths, they are fully aware of the importance of the weapon they are delivering to a defenceless Earth.

The Mangalore fires again. And again.

And again.

Another hit. This one fatal.

The Mondoshawan ship veers toward a tiny nearby planet.

The Mondoshawan commander locates an uninhabited area, and locks the controls.

The blast shakes the sky…

"Welcome to Paradise!"

Daisuke Motomiya paused on his way to the door. The TV screen behind him was filled with an image of palm trees, blue water, white sand.

"Damn!" Daisuke cursed under his breath. He whished he could afford a TV with an OFF switch. The cheap (i.e., free), model that filled one corner of his modular apartment lightened up whenever a commercial was on. They arrived unannounced, like the mail-order catalogs of yore.

"Welcome to Fhloston Paradise! Tonight, from five to seven, Yamato Ishida, the ultimate DJ, the man listened to by more people than anyone else in the Universe…"

The cat watched, entranced.

"…will announce the winner of the Gemini Croquettes Contest. Two days in Fhloston Paradise!"

"Don't watch it all day," Daisuke said, scratching the cat between the ears. "It'll rot your mind." The cat meowed distractedly, yellow eyes fixed on the palm trees and blue water. "Gemini Croquettes!" The announcer's voice droned, "The perfect meal for a perfect world!"

Daisuke opened his apartment door onto a less than perfect world.

A man stood in the hallway. A kid, really; maybe eighteen. Not to big. But the laser weapon levelled in Daisuke's face was plenty big. And lethal. It was humming dangerously.

"The cash, man!" the kid said.

Daisuke restrained a laugh. _Cash? Who ever carried cash?_

"Been here long?" Daisuke asked quizzically.

"Long enough" the kid hissed. "The cash- or I'll blow you into tomorrow. The cash!"

"Right. The cash." Daisuke studied the young highwayman's (or was it hallwayman's) weapon. "Say, isn't that a Z140? Alleviated titanium. Neuron-charged assault model?"

The kid, who had 'borrowed' the weapon from his sister's ex-boyfriends' father's next-door neighbour, studied the laser rifle. "Uh…"

"You know," said Daisuke genially, "you could hurt somebody with this thing. Good thing it's not loaded."

The kid looked hurt. "It's not?"

"Nope. You gotta push this little yellow button." Daisuke pointed to a switch in the side of the gun.

The kid pushed the button. "Thanks."

The Z140's hum died.

Daisuke made his move. With his right hand, he sent the kid to the floor of the hallway, while with his left hand; he plucked the gun from the would-be mugger's hand. "You know," Daisuke began, "These things are _very_ illegal."

The kid hit the floor and looked up, dazed.

"You could get in a shitload of trouble. I better hang on to it for you." Daisuke opened a drawer just inside his apartment module; it was filled with similar weapons. He jammed in the Z140 and shut the drawer-

"Excuse me!" - Then stepped over the kid on the floor as his door locked behind him.

"Please enter you license."

Daisuke slid a plastic card through the slot on the dashboard of 'his' taxi. He punched in the stats and codes. The turbines whined. The gyros hummed. "Welcome.on.board.Mr.Motomiya," said a robotic voice.

"How you doing this morning?" Daisuke asked, "Sleep okay?"

He hit a button on the dash, right under the sticker that read 'un unleaded fuel only' and the door to the garage slid open.

The gyros hummed. The turbines whined. The cab slid forward on its mag field; or rather the mag field slid forward, and the cab stayed centred exactly within it. The effect, however, was the same.

"Fuel.level.6.03," said the cab, "Propulsion.2X4."

"I had the worst goddamn nightmare," Daisuke muttered. "And I don't meant the stupid mugger." He could still feel the explosion in his head. After flying a thousand missions with Wallace, he was used to talking during countdown, check-off and take off; even if it meant talking to himself. Or to a stupid taxi chip.

"You.have.five.points.left.on.your.licence," the taxi chip droned. In the old days, when points were penalties, that would have been good. Now, when your points were gone your licence was lifted.

"Thanks for reminding me." Groaned Daisuke.

He hit forward.

The cab slid forward, of the ramp and into the air. The megalopolis that was twenty-sixth century New York came into view. From up here, high above the trash that settled to the ground like autumn leaves, it was breathtakingly beautiful.

"Have.a.nice.day," said the taxi chip.

"Why not?" said Daisuke as he skimmed of between the gleaming towers, looking for his first fare.

_End chapter two_

Thanks for reading now how about letting me know what you think, eh? xD


	4. Chapter Three

**Disclaimer**I still own nothing.

**Authors Note**We have Ken /!throws confetti!/ Yayyy! I'd like to thank RumorUnderOath and Fruitloop Trooper for their kind reviews. And to Fruitloop – Yes I did think of making Taichi the general but I like the TaixKou hints and it wouldn't have worked any other way. Thanks for your comment

The Fifth Element

Chapter Three

Not to far away, in the office of The President of the United Federation, a desperate silence reigned. Jou sat speechless in his chair. Only minuets before he had received the news that the Mondoshawan ship, entering the system at his invitation, had been shot down. Only seconds before he had summoned the priest and given him the bad news.

They say it is better to give than to receive, but the President had always found it better- or at least easier- to receive bad news than to give it. Koushirou had responded to the president's words by collapsing, luckily his apprentice Taichi had been there to catch him and settle the man into a near-by seat. The priest's apprentice watched his teacher closely. Eventually Koushirou found the power to look up to his novice and friend, their eyes met and Koushirou nodded softly, a pained look crossed Taichi's eyes before the brown-haired man looked away.

Finally, Koushirou broke the silence. "We are lost!" He said simply, knocking the reassuring hand of Taichi's from his shoulder which had found its way there as the red-haired man began to speak.

At that moment, the President's highest-ranking military commander, General Inoue Miyako, entered the room her purple locks swaying in a loose ponytail, in her hand was a still-warm fax. "Jou," She began, but in seeing the others in the room was fast to correct herself, "Mr. President." She corrected nodding towards the aqua-haired man, "The attack was launched by two unregistered warships."

"Close all borders," responded the President, smothering a smile. Miyako was one of his favourite Generals; she had a no-nonsense attitude but had a knack for out stepping her place, which was why he'd given her such a high ranking job, so she wouldn't have too. "And declare a state of general alert." He added his eyes flashing seriously.

"Yes, sir." Miyako saluted and gave a slight indication of her head towards the auburn-haired woman who was standing close to the Presidents desk. Sora, Jou's aide, smiled slightly in return.

President Jou turned to the third and final person in the room, another officer who stood near a console, "Try to contact these Mondoshawans," he said, "We owe them an explanation."

"Yes sir."

"Lost!" repeated Koushirou. "Five hundred years we have been waiting, and all for nothing!"

"Koushirou." Taichi began but paused as Jou approached and laid a gentle hand upon his shoulder.

"Father…Koushirou, you should go home. Get some rest." The young priest looked up, his shadowy eyes shimmering. "But the Mondoshawans…I am their contact on Earth! They will be in contact, who, what will they, do if…?"

"Koushirou." Taichi spoke again, "I'm sure the President will contact us if anything happens."

"This is government business now." Jou began but caught the dark look from the russet-haired boy, "I will keep you informed…well, I'll try my best."

Taichi gave the President a look that spoke volumes, before he helped his friend and mentor from his seat and led him toward the exit where two guards waited to escort them away. The door had barely slid shut behind them before it glided open again. A captain entered.

"Sir, the rescue team has reported from the Mondoshawan crash site."

Jou looked at the man carefully, "Any survivors?"

"Technically speaking," said the captain, "Yes."

"An arm?"

General Inoue Miyako followed the surgical cart down the hallways of the Neurological Center. She was struggling to keep up with Dr.Jenrya Lee, the white-coated scientist who was pushing the cart. On the surgical cart was an arm, still in its long metal glove. The hand was holding a broken handle.

"That's all that survived?" Miyako asked, a hint of sadness creeping into her voice.

"A few cells are still alive," Dr. Lee replied his grey eyes flashing. "It's more than I need."

Miyako studied the glove with its long tapering fingers. It looked almost human. It was certainly not as gross as she had expected it to be. "It doesn't exactly look Mondoshawan," she mused thoughtfully, "Do you know what it is?"

"We tried," said Lee, pushing the cart through one set of swinging doors, then another, then another. "But the computer went of the charts."

"Charts?" asked Miyako, struggling to keep up.

"You see-" explained Jenrya, lowering his voice but not slowing his pace, "-Normal human beings have forty DNA memo groups, which is more than enough for any species to perpetuate itself. But this..." He burst through yet another door, and Miyako scurried to keep up.

"…this has _two hundred thousand_ DNA memo groups!"

"Sounds like- a freak – of nature – to me!" panted Miyako, out of breath.

"Yes," said Jenrya. He stopped in front of the last barrier; a frosted glass sliding door marked- 'Central Lab Neurological Center.' – and flashed the General a thin smile. "I can't wait to meet him."

"Or her!" Miyako added sharply,

"Or her." Jenrya replied quickly.

The Central Lab looked more like an engine room than a laboratory. It was a place for achievements, not experiments- a monument to practical rather than visionary science. In the center of the room, a huge glass turbine hummed softly. It was filled with clear liquid which boiled and bubbled. Floating in the liquid was the arm, still in its metallic glove.

The fingers were curved slightly. It looked like the last gesture of a drowning race- or the first hello of a race being born.

Jenrya was studying the read-out on a computer terminal. To Miyako, who stood at his side with two other soldiers behind her, it was just a list of numbers. To Jenrya it was a window into genetic code. A genetic code unlike any he had ever seen.

"The compositional elements of his," A sharp amber glare, "or hers, is the same as ours. There are simply more of them- tightly packed with infinite genetic knowledge. Almost as if this…being were- engineered."

Miyako eyed the soldiers behind her who shifted under her gaze, before she turned to the dark-haired man, "Is there any danger?"

Jenrya smiled his grey eyes flashing with excitement, "We put it through the cellular hygiene detector. The cell is, for lack of a better word, perfect."

"Okay," Miyako replied. She had been sent by the President to monitor this experiment, and she knew her duty. Using the key that had been provided to her by the Academy of Military and Cultural Sciences, she opened the self-destruct box.

"Go ahead," she said. She put her finger over the flashing red button, "But Miss…or Mr. Perfect had better be polite. Otherwise, I turn him into cat food."

Jenrya nodded and pulled the switch that began the DNA reconstruction.

As the group watched, the liquid in the circular center generator began to swirl. It began to boil and bubble feverishly.

The meter on the side of the turbine showed 7, then 8, as the turbine's hum built to a high whine, then passed out of the range of human hearing. But the steady vibration of the floor and the walls continued to increase.

"Look!" said Jenrya excitedly.

The meter was at 9.

Tiny specks were appearing in the swiftly moving fluid. They came seemingly out of nowhere, like snowflakes in headlights; they danced and spun like sparks from an unseen fire; they glittered and glowed like stars, forming a new universe and gathering into galaxies. The shower of sparks flowed downward in a spiral like a galaxy; then, as the group watched, amazed, the spiral began to form the outline of a human body.

The meter hit 10.

What had been all light and motion began to collect into form and substance. First the white of bone, and then the red of blood and flesh wrapping itself around the bone. Veins drew themselves in, and nerves snapped into place. Sinews criss-crossed the form, pulling and tugging it into a familiar shape of a human body.

It was like watching the opposite of decay- the composition of corporeal life.

"I had no idea the process was so- beautiful!" said Jenrya as he stood transfixed in front of the glass. Miyako held back, one hand hovering over the destruct button.

The meter was bouncing off the peg at 11.

"Three seconds to ultraviolet protection," said Jenrya's white-coated assistant from a control station across the lab. A semi-opaque shield dropped down inside the chamber, hiding the reconstructing body from view.

"What's happening?" asked Miyako.

"This is the crucial phase," said Jenrya. "The cells are bombarded with slightly greasy solar atoms, which force the body to react."

"React?"

"Protect itself," said Jenrya joyfully. "That means growing skin! Clever, huh?"

"Wonderful," Miyako replied. But kept her hand poised, just in case.

The meter began to drop.

10

9

The process was slowing.

Dr. Lee looked at his assistant across the lab and nodded. The young man in the white coat spoke softly into his voice-activated terminal. "Reconstruction complete. Engage reanimation."

There was a whoosh of air from the turbine chamber, Miyako's hand moved back into place above the flashing red self-destruct button. One push and the lab would no longer exist. A form was barely visible through the shield. The bubbling liquid was turning to smoke, as it sublimated from a liquid into a gas.

"Activate life-support system," said Jenrya breathlessly.

His assistant pushed a button.

Lightning strikes formed in and around the chamber, causing a few strands of hair on Jenrya's head to dance, like wallflowers hopping to be invited onto the floor. "Life-support system activated." said the assistant.

A sound like giant footsteps came over the loud speaker: 'lub-dub, lub-dub.'

"The heartbeat, amplified!" said Jenrya turning down the volume.

The form inside the chamber jerked.

Once, twice.

It could barely be seen through the semi-opaque shield, but it was moving as it emerged from the darkness of non-existence, into the light of creation. It was beginning to twist and writhe in a sinuous and graceful movement.

"He's alive!" Jenrya cried happily. "Remove the shield."

The aide pushed another button, and the shield slowly rose out of the way.

The chamber was empty both of liquid and gas. Only a few wisps of smoke remained. The laboratory was filled with a smell at once sweet and strange, like the soul-satisfying scent of a far field filled with flowers.

Jenrya, his assistant, Miyako, and the guards at the door all stood transfixed, watching in silent wonder.

A man; a boy, really. No more than seventeen or eighteen.

He had shiny raven black hair with a tinge of indigo and huge violet eyes. He was holding the same broken handle the arm had held. It appeared to be torn off a briefcase. His body was perfectly formed and perfectly beautiful…and he was nude except for a few strategically placed strips of surgical tape.

"I told you…perfect!" said Jenrya turning to General Inoue, "And a boy too."

Miyako scowled slightly at the last comment but still stood hypnotized.

Jenrya gently pushed Miyako's hand away from the flashing red self-destruct button. Miyako however, couldn't take her eyes off the almost nude vision inside the chamber, "I'd like to get a few pictures," she said. "For the, uh, archives."

Smiling Jenrya pressed a button and a camera swiveled toward the chamber. A flash went off and the boy jumped backward, startled.

His violet eyes edged in black darted around the lab. He looked at the broken handle clutched in his fingers and frowned slightly.

"Oucra cocha o dayodomo binay ouacra mo cocha ferji akba ligounai makta keratapla," He whispered quickly, violet eyes darting around as he shifted in the chamber, his voice grew louder, "Tokemata tokemata! Seno santonoi-aypa! Monoi ay Cheba! Givamana seno!"

"What's he saying?" asked Miyako, her hand once again hovering over the self-destruct button. Jenrya edged her hand away. "Activate the phonic detector," he said to his assistant.

The boy was kicking the glass side of the chamber.

Jenrya's assistant rolled out a speaker assembly festooned with more lights than a Russian had medals.

The boy, slightly panicked, was still kicking the glass.

"Give him a light sedative."

The assistant threw a switch. A hissing sound was heard, and a mist swirled through the chamber.

"Give him something to wear…"

Another switch- and a pile of bright clothing fell into the chamber from above. The boy snatched the clothes up and looked at them, frowning.

"Teno akta chtaman aasi n ometka!" he said as he began to put the clothes on, unhurriedly and without embarrassment.

Miyako jumped as one of the guards moved past her and edged closer to the chamber, she eyed him warily but was too stunned to do much else. The guard moved closer. Somehow the sight of the beautiful boy slipping into a knit-and-plastic jumpsuit was even more exciting than seeing him nude or almost nude.

"This thing solid?" The guard said gruffly, directing his question to Dr. Lee.

"Unbreakable," The scientist replied.

The guard smiled at the boy, who frowned back at him while he struggled with his clothes.

"If you wanna get out, you're gonna have to develop those communication skills, I can help ya if you want!" He sniggered.

He was answered by a fist- the boy's, rammed straight through the glass.

He leaned out of the chamber, his indigo hair flying about his pale face; still only half dressed, and grabbed the guard by the front of his military tunic, picking him up so that his medals rattled.

An alarm began to sound; Miyako took a step forward but stopped in her path to watch.

The boy banged the guard against the side of the chamber and dropped him to the floor. He then reached around the side of the chamber and unlocked it, then stepped out, still slightly wobbly on his long and shapely legs.

The other guard rushed forward. The boy sent him flying into an opposite wall.

Jenrya and his assistant backed into the corner. Jenrya's face showed terror mixed with admiration. His assistant's, terror only. Miyako ducked behind a consol, smiling slightly.

A phalanx of ten security guards with plastic shields and guns rushed into the lab. They surrounded the boy and he studied them for a moment, and then backed up.

One step, two.

The guards moved forward. The boy was trapped in the far corner of the lab. Then he turned and jumped _through _the wall, as if it were made of paper.

"Perfect!" Breathed Jenrya, undismayed by the near total destruction of his laboratory.

It was public money, after all

_End of Chapter Three_

Thanks for reading, how about dropping me a review to let me know what you think? xD


	5. Chapter Four

**Disclaimer**: All things belong to people who aren't me.

**Authors Note**: Woo it's been a while, huh? Well to anyone who cares I have a new full time job in a laboratory which keeps me busy these days, it's only for a year though before I head of to university, this story will be finished by then…I hope…lol. Anyway, I bet you all have skipped on to the story and aren't even reading this…sniff…

The Fifth Element

Chapter Four

"After him!" cried the Chief of Security. It was his job at stake after all.

He sent his men in teams of two through the hole in the wall, directing them up to search every corner of the floor. It was only a matter of time, he knew. The boy- or whatever he was- was trapped. He had shut down the elevators and the Central Lab was on the 450th floor.

"Do we have Deadly Force Authorization?" one of the security guards asked as he sprinted down a corridor. His partner laughed. It was a joke. DFA was standard operating procedure for any unauthorized activity in the Central Laboratories. Or anywhere in Manhattan, for that matter. This was why, when the boy burst into view at the end of the corridor, neither guard hesitated before opening fire in an array of bullets.

Dodging the bullets, the boy looked up. A grille covered a ventilation duct in the ceiling. As more bullets were fired his way he jumped up, grabbed the grille and flung it at the guards. When they opened their eyes he was gone.

"Got him!"

"No you didn't. I got him!"

"Neither of us did. He's gone!"

The guards peered up into the ventilation duct. They saw a scurry of movement at the far end of the shaft. "After you." said one.

"No, after you," said the other.

Just then the Chief of Security arrived on the scene. Looking up, he saw immediately what was happening, "You two! Come with me," he said, pulling himself up into the shaft.

"After you."

"No, after you."

"Come on, dammit- move!"

As swiftly and as surely as a cat, the raven-haired boy scurried through the ventilation shaft, looking for a way out. Even though he moved at lighting speed, his face showed no sign of panic. His violet eyes were clear. His ruby tinted lips were parted in a slight smile.

Behind him could be heard the clumsy scraping and kicking of the security guards, getting closer and closer.

The narrow shaft turned right, then left.

Turned up, then down.

With each turn the duct got smaller, until the boy was on all fours, and then crawling on his belly. He was as fast on his belly as he had been on his feet. Then he reached the end.

Punto. Finito. Period. A barred steel grille.

Through it he could see blue sky.

He smiled and kicked out the grille.

It spun off into empty space.

He slipped through the hole, and stepped out onto a narrow ledge. The ledge was eleven inches wide. It went around the 454th floor of the Central Technologies Building, which took up an entire block on 55th Street in Manhattan.

The boy looked down.

Below, he could see hovering swarms of air cars and taxis, scooting between the towers. And far below them, the detritus and litter that was the 'midden' of modern post-industrial society, the uncollected trash of five hundred years that was easier to build on than to move or collect.

There was a rattle and scraping in the duct; footsteps and out-of-breath voices. The boy moved a few steps farther out on the ledge. He walked easily, as if he had no fear of heights, his violet eyes flashed as he took in the spectacular view of mid-millennial Manhattan.

The subways now ran vertically as well as horizontally, trains of cars supplementing and connecting the antiquated elevators. The office buildings were interspersed with the skeletons of the 'racktowers,' where space was rented for the modular apartments that could be unplugged and moved at the owner's wish. The higher you lived, the more you paid.

The street was just a smudge, far, far below. No one lived there except the homeless and the outlaws who crept through the garbage, feeding on the trash and debris that fell from above. The trickle-down theory at work.

If this scene was new to the boy, he didn't show it. He hardly seemed to notice. He reached into one of the pockets on his skimpy outfit and pulled out the broken handle. He looked at it and shook his head, then put it back.

Suddenly shots ricocheted off the wall and ledge, and the boy crept around the corner of the building, out of the line of fire.

A head stuck out of the shaft.

It was the Chief of Security, a burly and balding man of his thirties. He looked out, then down- then turned pale and pulled his head back in.

He turned to the two men right behind him. "Follow him!"

A security guard stuck his head out. A hand and foot followed. He took one step out onto the narrow ledge, then turned and clambered back into the ventilation shaft, "No way," he said flatly. The second guard took one looked and pulled back, "No way!"

The Chief of Security had been preparing a series of threats in his mind. He reconsidered and filed them away and popped open his cell phone. "We need a flying unit here!" He ordered.

Siren wailing, lights flashing, a police cruiser zoomed between the buildings. Swarms of cabs moved out of the way. The chief leaned out far enough to point, and the police cruiser shut off its siren. Hovering silently, it crept slowly toward the corner of the building.

"This.is.the.police," said a robotic amplified voice. "We.are.processing.your.identification."

Actually it wasn't a robot, but one of the two officers in the car, who had learned to imitate a robot through a post-academy mail order course. He could see the perpetrator standing on the narrow ledge. A pretty boy, in very a bright and very scanty outfit.

"He has no file!" said his partner, tapping the glass on the cruiser's computer terminal.

"Please.put.up.your.arms.and.follow.our.instructions," said the driver in his best robotic voice.

The boy seemed only too happy to comply. He smiled and raised his arms. He stood on his tiptoes, looked down 450 stories, and-

"Christ!" said both cops at once. "He dove off!"

Meanwhile…

"Let me off over there, please! That entrance on the left, at the corner."

Daisuke yanked at the wheel of the cab, turning so fast that his gyros moaned, and cut under two lanes of traffic, expertly avoiding a fender-bender, a side swipe and a rear-ender, while ignoring the curses of a fellow cabbie.

He bobbled to a hovering stop at an entrance ledge high above the 44th Street Corridor, where what had once been the 44th Street lay beneath twenty feet of midden trash. "Wow," said the, a turquoise-suited businessman. "Where'd you learn to drive like that?"

"The last war," Daisuke said dryly. "And the one before that."

"Awesome." The fare swiped his card through the slot, and the decal speakers in Daisuke's cab all started up at once, a chorus of tiny robot voices:

'Please.make.sure.your.belongings.are…'

'While.in.New.York.vist.the…'

'Direct. fare opened the door.

"Hey," said Daisuke. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

The fare checked the seat behind him. "What?"

"The tip."

"I don't tip," said the fare, stepping out onto the entrance ledge. "It's against my principles."

"Great," said Daisuke, roaring off. "How often do you get to meet a true man of principle!"

Leaving the 44th, Daisuke cruised north, looking for a new fare. Cabs were hailed by balloons released by doormen, or by flashing lights at the entrance locks of big corporations. He was cruising at a little over 400 floors, watching the ledges out of the corners of his eyes, when-

There was a god awful crash, as something hit the roof of the cab.

The impact tripped all the sensors, and the cab automatically droned:

'You.have.just.had.an.accident.'

"No shit!" Daisuke muttered, struggling to regain control of his careening cab. He glanced over his shoulder and saw to his amazement that someone had fallen into the cab, through the roof!

He stabilized his gyros and pulled over to the side, out of the traffic. He hovered in the shadow of a parapet as the cab's voice droned on:

'You.have.one.point.left.on.your.license.'

Great! He sighed and looked into the back seat to assess the damage. Daisuke figured he had been hit by a 'faller,' one of midtown Manhattan's hundred or so suicides every day. But if this was suicide, it was an unsuccessful one.

Russet-eyes blinked as his gaze landed on the whatever-or-whoever-it-was who had smashed through the crummy Plexiflex roof of the cab. Whoever it was was now lying on the back seat in a heap of legs and arms. Awfully pretty legs and arms, as a matter of fact!

"Any survivors?" Daisuke asked running a hand through wild auburn spikes- and caught his breath.

A boy sat up in the pile of debris on the back seat of his cab. He was, for lack of a better word, beautiful. More than beautiful, in fact.

Heavenly.

There was a little blood on his face from a cut lip, but other than that he seemed miraculously unharmed. Daisuke leaned over and wiped the blood off his mouth with his sleeve.

Daisuke couldn't take his eyes away; this boy was just so…perfect. His hair was a stunning shade of blackish blue and his eyes; they weren't blue, but not purple either. A sunset kind of colour perhaps, and so achingly beautiful.

Daisuke's heart stopped and he felt like the cab was spinning.

Was it him, or was the boy's hair sparkling at him? How cruel…and teasing of it.

The boy smiled.

He felt he ought to say something. But what does one say to a spectacularly pretty boy who just fell out of the sky?

"Hi," he said finally, "Nice hair.

"Akina delutan," the boy replied, with a broad smile, as if Daisuke had just said the cleverest thing he had ever heard. "Nou shan. Djela- Boom!"

"Boom?" queried Daisuke.

"Bada boom!" the boy said, clapping his hands together and blinking at the slapping noise.

Daisuke looked up through the demolished roof of his cab. He could see a blue police cruiser approaching, its lights flashing. "Yeah," he said warily, "Big Bada Boom."

'You.have.an.unauthorized.passenger,' growled the police cruiser in a demented robotic screech as it hovered in front of Daisuke's cab. 'We.are.going.to.arrest.him.please.leave.your.hands.on.the.wheel.thank.you.for. had had enough experience with New York's 'finest' to know their reputation for trigger-happy un-professionalism. He left his hands on the wheel in plain sight. "Sorry," he said over his shoulder, "But I think this is your ride. We'd better do what they say."

The police cruiser moved in clumsily, mag-locking onto the cab. Huge guns pointed through every window of the cruiser, and behind every gun barrel were two black, beady eyes.

Cops.

The cruiser's door slid open, and a hydraulic-Felon-net emerged, complete with a set of automatic handcuffs, opened and beckoning. Daisuke felt lousy. He felt twice as lousy when he looked into the back seat and saw the tears in the boy's eyes.

Big beautiful violet eyes.

"Sorry." He said

Instead of answering, the boy pointed at one of the many stickers plastered on the doors and windows of Daisuke's cab. It was a dial 1-800-ORPHAN sticker. It showed a kid's pleading eyes and below them, two words:

Please help

Was he trying to communicate?

"Don't" Daisuke began his russet eyes bleeding with pain, "Don't put me in this position. I can't!"

The boy nodded and pointed again to the sticker.

Please help

"I only got one point left on my license, and I need it to get to the garage," Daisuke pleaded. "It's my six-month overhaul. Understand?"

The boy seemed to understand the extraordinary power he had over Daisuke's emotions. He smiled wistfully, wiped a tear from an eye, and pointed to the sticker again.

Please help.

"Wallace's going to kill me," Daisuke muttered.

He shut of the meter of the cab.

'Thank.you.for. the police said, as Daisuke hit the null switch under his dash, momentarily overriding the maglock.

"You're welcome." Said Daisuke-

And he floored the gyros, spinning the cab free, and sending the police cruiser into an asymmetric tailspin, knocking it against the side of the building two stories below.

'We've.been.hit' squawked the cruiser, its automatics kicking in, 'request.back.up! in. pursuit!'

"one.point.has.been.removed.from.your.license,'

Said the cab in Daisuke's ear.

He spun the wheel, rocketing around a corner and down six stories, away from the flashing lights of the cruiser. A flurry of curses, honks and shouts followed him.

'You.have.no.points.left,' the cab continued, 'You.are.unauthorized.to.operate.this.vehicle.would.you.please...'

The voice died suddenly as Daisuke ripped the speaker from the ceiling and tossed it out the window, into the back of a passing pickup.

"I hate it when people cry," he said. In the rear-view mirror, he saw the inky-haired boy watching the commotion with a slightly bemused smile.

He was so beautiful that Daisuke could barely tear his eyes away, back to the darting aerial traffic.

"I got no defence, you know!"

_End of Chapter Four_

Woo Daisuke and Ken have finally met! Now onward to the Daisuke torture! Ahhh so cute. See you all next time…which should be soon…hopefully…


	6. Chapter Five

**Disclaimer: **Own nothing…still

**Author's Note: **Hmm. Hello again! Sorry it's been such a while but I've had… a tough few weeks, some nasty family problems so…yeah. Enough about that! I'd like to thank RumorUnderOath and Ichijouji for their kind reviews.

The Fifth Element

Chapter Five

A few blocks away, Unit 47 of the 2345th Precinct was in the line for the McDonald's take-out window when the radio crackled into life. "All units in Sector 12 full alert converge on vector 21."

"Vector, sector," said the young cop riding shotgun. "I never can get it straight."

His older partner, a fat balding man perhaps in his late fourties sat at the wheel, he seemed bored with the whole situation. Resignedly he lent forward and spoke into the mike of the patrol car. "Unit 47, we're on our way…"

He hung up the mike, and finished, "…as soon as we eat some lunch. Get the burgers, kid."

The younger cop spoke into another mike, this one hovering patiently in the air outside the cruiser, waiting for an order. "One Big Mac with regular fries, with Diet coke. One Quarter Pounder with large fries and a caffeine-free Diet Cherry Coke. Copy?"

"That's One Big Mac with regular fries, with Diet coke. One Quarter Pounder with large fries and a caffeine-free Diet Cherry Coke." The speaker which hung below the microphone crackled back in a worn female tone.

"Roger. Over and out."

The line of hovering aerial vehicles inched forward. The young cop turned to his partner. "Shouldn't we be responding to that call?"

The older cop shook his head. "I'm too tired, too old and too hungry to go chasing some hotrod call." The cruiser pulled up to the take-out window. "And I'm defiantly too thirsty," said the older cop, reaching across for his tray of cokes.

A tray of burgers followed. He was reaching for it when-

Wham!

-it disappeared as a speeding yellow cab slipped between the window and the cruiser, taking off the side of both. The cops looked at one another, and then at the battered yellow cab disappearing between the skyscrapers. "Woah." They said in unison.

"Why don't you sit up here?" Daisuke asked, patting the seat beside him. "Long as we're illegal anyway." The boy climbed into the front seat, his colourful outfit was intriguingly revealing. He smiled, in a twist of his ruby lips, and began combing his inky-hair with his fingers.

A blaringly loud siren screeched from behind them. Daisuke slashed across and over six lanes of traffic, then doubled back two blocks, spun up six stories, then slowed to an idling pace. "If they don't chase you after a mile," Daisuke began smiling across at the boy, "they don't chase you. Believe me."

He turned a corner, and suddenly six sky blue police cruisers burst out of an alleyway in hot pursuit. "Maybe its two miles," he muttered, flooring the turbines and twisting the gyros to full evasion mode.

"Klaatu barata nikto," said the boy.

"Dude, I'm sorry," said Daisuke. "I only speak two languages: English, and bad English."

The six police cruisers separated into two groups of three, one to the left and one to the right. Daisuke threw the can into a spin, straight down through the canyons toward a roof garden far below.

The cruisers followed.

Daisuke pulled up at the last moment.

Four of the cruisers pulled up and there were two ominous thumps heard. Two of the cruisers spun out and buried themselves in the soft synthetic rooftop dirt. Daisuke headed straight downtown, with four police cruisers hot on his tail.

"Maica lote muni." The boy squeaked in what Daisuke thought was excitement.

"Listen, Dude," he said. "I'm all for conversation, but can you shut up a minute? This is a little tricky…"

The four cruisers were closing in, their high powered police turbos whining. The cab's screen was beeping. Daisuke turned it on.

'Attack mode! Attack mode! Attack mode! Attack mode! Attack mode! Attack mode! Attack mode! Attack mode! Attack mode! Attack mode! Attack mode! Attack mode!'

Daisuke turned to his passenger. "I don't know what you did to piss them off…"

Engaged! Engaged! Engaged! Engaged! Engaged! Engaged! Engaged! Engaged!

"But they are really pissed off. Hold on."

Daisuke doubled the gyros while cutting in the braking blasters: an old air combat trick. The cab groaned in protest but made the turn.

"I think we're safe for a while," Daisuke said.

Then he looked in the rear-view mirror. Two police cruisers were still closing in.

"I tried to play it soft, boys," Daisuke whispered. "Too bad you don't appreciate it." He cut his hoverjets and pushed the stick forward. "We'll be safe in the smog. If we reach it."

Daisuke's cruiser turned turtle and dove straight down, through the startled scurrying cabs and flivvers and maglev limos. He powered up at the last minute, just above the garbage that covered the street. A right, a left, through the noxious methane mist.

Then a dead end.

"Daya deo bono dato!" said the boy. He seemed pleased with the excitement. "Dalutan!"

"If there's one thing I don't need," said Daisuke, "its advice on how to drive."

Turning a sudden loop, Daisuke whipped the cab sideways. Then he pressed the stick to one side with his knee and turned of his maglev arrester- another old fighter pilot trick- so that the cab turned sideways.

Steering with uncanny precision, Daisuke threaded the cab through an alley so tight that the ancient bricks scraped the light off the top. The first police cruiser was a foot wider. It sped in the scraped to a screeching halt. The second cruiser braked just in time. "Shit! Attention all patrol cars!" Then backed up and made a U-turn.

The deepening haze and smog that clung to the ground level of the city mercifully obscured the generations of litter and debris- the urban _midden_ that covered the streets to a depth of between twenty and forty feet. No one lived down here.

That was what the young cop thought. Then he saw the figures, almost human, clothed rags and skins, climbing up and around, slipping and sliding over and between the enormous piled of rotting garbage.

He shuddered.

"Look at this!" he said to his partner. "The garbage collectors go out, or what?"

"Yeah," said the older cop, sarcastically. "They been out a week already."

It was of course a joke. The garbage collectors had been out for a generation, ever since the city had discovered it was cheaper to let the trash build up than haul it to a landfill. Since the city soared upward faster than the trash, it created no problem for those living in the upper levers.

And the trash was handy as a dwelling and scavenging place for the drop-outs –literally- those who couldn't afford to soar upward with the city. It was retropostneodarwinism in action, and though it made perfect sense, the young cop found it, well-

Disgusting.

The piles seemed to sigh, emitting clouds of steaming stink. But where was the fugitive cabbie? He was supposed to be trapped in this dead-end alcove, but there was nothing here but a vertical billboard, advertising a long-forgotten company called 'IBM'

The young cop scanned the billboard, which was fifty feet but only ten wide, not nearly wide enough to hide a cab. "Where'd he go?" he asked his partner.

The older cop motioned down, toward the midden. "Down I guess," he said, "Must have lost his gyros. Not our job to sift through that crap for bodies. Let's go get another burger."

Daisuke was looking up, even as the cops were looking down. His cab was behind the sign, hovering on its tail- yet another old fighter pilot trick. It was expensive in electrics, but effective.

Uncomfortable, too. The boy and Daisuke were jammed together in the front seat. Well being in this position wasn't exactly uncomfortable. The boy had a nice warm smell that overcame the garbage. "We'll wait here till things calm down a bit," Daisuke whispered. "You mind?"

The boy grabbed his shirt collar and whispered in his ear. "Priest…"

Daisuke studied him, he seemed weak, his violet eyes were almost closed.

"Priest…"

"You're not that bad," Daisuke said softly. "Come on, we'll get you to a doctor."

"Iz-umi," said the boy. "Kou-shi-rou."

It almost sounded like a name. "Izumi Koushirou?"

The boy nodded.

Then fainted.

"Yes?"

The door was opened by a pale faced, red-haired man; his black eyes searched the face of man before him.

His visitor was a strong, slightly scarred man with striking burgundy hair, and his face held a nervous pinch to it. In his arms was a boy. He appeared to be sleeping.

"Excuse me," Daisuke said, "I'm looking for a priest."

"Weddings are one floor down, my boy," said the priest. "And congratulations."

He closed the door.

It opened again- kicked in.

"He's not my bride," Daisuke said, a slight blush having captured his face, "He's my fare. He's looking for an Izumi Koushirou. According to the phone guide he lives here."

"That's me," said the priest, buckling his robe more tightly around him as he stared at the two intruders. "But I don't know who he is."

The boy was wearing a bright, revealing jumpsuit and his shoulder-length hair was an inky blue. Izumi regarded him suspiciously, "Where did you find him?"

"He…dropped in on me," Daisuke replied. He held the boy out toward the priest and one of the unconscious boy's arms dropped to one side. There was a strange tattoo on his wrist, four squares arranged as dots in a wave-like pattern, which each set of waves pointing in a different direction.

Four elements connected by lines.

When Koushirou saw it, his pale face grew more pallid. He looked down at the scarred and scratched symbol of the four elements on his antique brass belt buckle. It matched the boy's tattoo exactly.

"The Fifth Element!" he breathed, and sank to the floor, unconscious. Daisuke stepped all the way into the apartment, letting the door slide shut behind him.

"Wallace's going to kill me!" he muttered, looking for a place to set the boy down.

With a hard slap, Koushirou awoke. He was staring into a tanned and kindly, tough, but kinda cute mug.

"Who are you?"

"I brought the boy remember?"

Koushirou sat up, "Boy?"

Then he remembered. The Fifth Element.

"Yeah!" Daisuke was saying. "He dropped in on me. I mean, on my taxi. Talking this bizarre language."

Koushirou shook his head, so slowly that it seemed almost a new style of prayer, "Not bizarre. The divine language. The most ancient language. Spoken throughout the Universe before time was time. The Fifth Element, the Supreme…"

Koushirou looked at the boy who lay stretched out on the couch, his indigo hair gleaming, and suddenly it dawned on him:

"He's- a bit small, kinda young."

"You noticed," Daisuke replied sarcastically.

His sarcasm was lost on the priest, who was all but kneeling before the sleeping boy. "It's a miracle! There's not a moment to lose! Wake him up, but be gentle about it! This boy is mankind's most precious possession!"

"He is?"

"He is- Perfect!"

And Koushirou ran out of the room.

Daisuke knelt by the boy's side.

He raised an arm to slap him awake, and then changed his mind. He lowered the hand slowly; with his fingertips he touched the boy's cheek. His skin was as soft and fragile as the petal of a rose. It was hard to believe he had fallen through the roof of his cab, almost unharmed.

"Perfect," Daisuke whispered.

"It's a miracle!"

Taichi peered up from the chair by the bed, which was still unmade. He eyed Koushirou weary, the man had been so depressed lately, and not much fun to be around, sudden mood swings such as these could mean a whole catalogue of bad things. The red-head was walking around the room with grace, he was almost dancing really.

This was good Taichi thought as he looked down to the cassock he was mending, with his favourite ancient device, a needle and thread. Well with Koushirou being such a moody bastard these past few days he had to find _something_ to fill the time.

"Miracle?" Taichi asked. "Where?"

Koushirou opened the closet door

"I can't wear these clothes," he said. "This calls for dignity."

"Oh?" Taichi asked sceptically, "So…you're not being a moody prat anymore now, right?"

"I have to dress the part," the red-head continued, disappearing into the closet as Taichi looked on, shaking his head in wonder.

The boy wouldn't wake up.

Daisuke touched his cheek, then his other cheek. Suddenly, on impulse that surprised even him, he bent down and kissed him gently on his ruby lips.

That worked.

His eyes snapped open.

Daisuke felt something cold, and sat up suddenly. It was his own gun jammed under his chin.

The boy had pulled it from his shoulder holster in a single swift moment, "Eto akta gamat!" The boy hissed.

"I'm sorry," said Daisuke. "It's just that…"

_Just that what? _The boy's eyes seemed to ask.

Embarrassed, Daisuke stumbled on, he wasn't particularly good with…these sorts of things, "I was told to wake you up gently, so I figured…"

The boy looked puzzled, he lowered the gun.

"You're right," said Daisuke hurriedly, "I'm wrong. I shouldn't have kissed you. Especially since we haven't been formally introduced, and…"

He fumbled in the pockets of his vest and pulled out a cheap, blinking plastic business card. "Here. It's a bit late, but my name is Daisuke, Motomiya Daisuke, I'm a cab driver. Call me anytime. You don't need to jump of a building to catch a cab, you know. Just call…"

The boy hesitated for a moment, then snatched the card out of his hand.

With an unexpected smile.

"Koushirou!"

"Mumphh."

Taichi rolled his eyes as he watched the almost hyper priest rustle through the closet looking for something to wear. He was glad to see him happier though.

"Koushirou, will you please tell me what you're harping on about?"

"The Supreme Being," Koushirou called over his shoulder.

"The who?"

"The Fifth Element! Here in out apartment!"

"But I thought-" Taichi began but paused as the red-head fell out of the closet dressed in a very formal looking cassock, how he'd managed to change _in_ the closet Taichi didn't know.

"It's a miracle!"

"So you've said…"

"And what's your name?" Daisuke asked the boy.

He was busy however, studying the card that he and given to him, watching the blinking lights so attentively is violet eyes crossed for a moment.

Daisuke stifled a laugh; the boy still had his gun after all, and pointed to his name on the card, "Name!" He said clearly and slowly.

He brightened, seeming to understand, "Kenatcha Minai Lekarariba-Laminai-Tchaii Ekbat De Sebat," he said matter-of-factly.

"Hey," said Daisuke, struggling to take it all in. "That's… cute. Do you have a nickname? Something a little…erm shorter?"

The boy frowned slightly and shifted from one-foot-to-the-other, his head then dropped to one side sending a cascade of inky-hair over his shoulder, "Ken." He said finally.

Daisuke stared into his deep violet eyes. They were like a sea in which he was eager to drown. His hair sparkled like a fire in which he desperately wanted to be consumed.

He was falling in love.

"Ken," he repeated. "That's really….cute."

Koushirou and Taichi burst into the living room- and found themselves staring into the barrel of Daisuke's gun, held on them by the boy.

"Appipulai Kenatcha Minai," Koushirou said breathlessly.

The boy lowered the gun. "Kou-shi-rou?"

The red-head bowed. "At your service."

The boy started to laugh. It was childish, infectious laugh that brought a smile to the young priest's face, and to Daisuke's as well. Taichi however, was frowning, the boy was strange, and a little small to be this Devine Being that Koushirou had made him out to be, but that little laugh was quite cute, and seeing Koushirou smiling again was even better.

"You sure he's your Supreme Being, Koushirou?" he asked, amused.

"Absolutely," the red-head replied. "There are the Four Elements on his wrist!"

Taichi sighed softly and gave a small bow, while Ken extended his thin wrist for his examination.

Meanwhile, Koushirou took Daisuke's thicker wrist in his to smaller hands and steered him towards the door. "Thank you so much for your help, Mr…?"

"Motomiya," Daisuke replied, still hypnotised by Ken's little laugh. "Daisuke Motomiya. But-"

Daisuke looked back over his shoulder. Ken was no longer laughing. He was watching him with sad eyes.

"Yes," babbled the red-head, "that's fine. Thank you very much, a thousand times over!"

"Think I might call to check up on him?" Daisuke asked as the apartment door slid open. "You know, to see if he's better?"

"He's fine, really," said Koushirou as he expertly hustled Daisuke through the door, "Don't worry. He just needs some rest. He's had a very long trip!"

"I know," Daisuke said, "I was there when he arrived."

He was neatly deposited in the hallway; the door was just about to slide shut when he checked it with his hand, tripping the safety over-ride. "Excuse me. One other thing, Father. He said something to me awhile ago and I didn't really get it, Akta gamat?"

"Akta gamat," repeated Koushirou, hitting the safety override. "It means 'Never without my permission'"

"That's what I thought," said Daisuke as the door slid shut in his face.

"Evening!" said Daisuke to the robot doorman. It was half an hour later. He had taken the cab back to the garage, and he was returning to his lonely apartment halfway up the towers of the city. Not high enough for the truly clean air, but above the worst of the smell.

"Evening," he said to his neighbour in the hallway.

"Fuck you," said the nasty neighbour, it was what he said to everybody.

"Thanks," said Daisuke wearily. "You too."

He slipped into his tiny apartment module.

"Meeeow!"

The cat came running and started rubbing against his leg. "Oh, God, I forgot your food! I'm really sorry!" Daisuke turned and pressed a button on the wall. It was directly connected to a fast-food restaurant. "How about some nice Thai food to apologize? How does that sound?"

"Meow."

The phone rang; Daisuke petted that cat quickly before picking up the receiver, "Hello?"

"Hey, bud," growled Wallace's voice. "I've been waiting all day here at the garage."

"Wallace, man." Muttered Daisuke. "I'm sorry. Listen, the cab is fine. Purring like a kitten."

"Yeah? Well, if that's the case why don't you let me hear it?"

"Okay. Look," said Daisuke, "I was on my way over, but I had a big fare fall into my lap. You know, on of those big fares you just can't resist?"

Wallace was still suspicious. "How big?"

"About five-foot-nine," said the burgundy-haired man. "Violet eyes, long legs, great skin. You know? Perfect."

"Uh huh," said Wallace. "I see! And this perfect fare- he's got, like, a name?"

"Yeeeaaah," said Daisuke dreamily. "Ken.

_End of Chapter Five_


	7. Chapter Six

**Disclaimer: **All this stuff belongs to people who are not me.

**Author's Note: **I'm not dead! Though I'm sure some of you would happily kill me for not updating quick enough! To you I say: You'll have to find me first! Haha! Many thanks to Chaos Raider Tenshi, shrimpeater and RumorUnderOath for there kind reviews and to all the people who have added this story to their favorites, why not drop me a line? Anyway I bet no one is reading this bit bet you've all skipped on to the good stuff!

**Couples: **Officially DaiKen/KenSuke, though I've thrown in loads of hints for others! Just pick them out!

The Fifth Element

Chapter Six

"What is he doing!?" Taichi demanded. He couldn't take his eyes off him. First he had walked nearly nude out of the shower. Now he was sitting at the computer, wearing only a skimpy towel, wolfing down fried chicken. Ken was surfing around the internet so fast that the modem cable was smoking, the hard drive was whining, the chip was barking like a dog.

On the screen, data was scrolling past in a steady stream, "He's learning our history." Koushirou said simply a slight unnerve smile lingering on his thin lips as he eyed his wild haired apprentice and friend, "The last five thousand years that he missed. He's been out of circulation for a while, you know."

Taichi nodded slowly before turning sharply, startled, as Ken broke into laughter. His laugh was bright, musical sound, like the laughter of children, totally without malice or cruelty. "What are you _laughing_ about?" Taichi asked bemusedly. What could he find in the bloody history of humanity's last five thousand years that could be the slightest bit amusing?

"Nap Oh Leon," Said Ken brightly, as he pointed at the screen which whirled quickly, before turning his violet eyes upon Taichi, whose lips twitched.

"What the heck is funny about Napoleon?" Taichi asked, sending a quick glance toward his red haired friend.

"Small!" chirped Ken. "So small!"

Still giggling, the violet eyed boy moved across the room and tossed two more KwikChick capsules into the microwave. The microwave scanned that capsules while emitting a low hum, as it clicked on the timer, and turned itself on. "Uh, say Kou-kun?" Taichi asked, an unsettling smile capturing his face. "I know your little being…thing, has been through a lot. But we don't have much time. The Ultimate Evil is getting closer and closer."

"Yes, of course." Koushirou began, but was interrupted by the high pitched _Ding_ from the microwave, which Ken promptly opened. The capsule had been expanded into a steaming plate heaped with chicken and vegetables. He set the chicken dinner beside the computer and sat down in front of it, scrolling with one had and eating, quite delicately, with the other.

"Ken," Koushirou tried again, "I'm sorry to interrupt you but…" He held up the broken handle the boy had given him. "The case?"

Ken shrugged, and began again to eat the second pile of chicken. The screen scrolled faster. "The case with the Sacred Stones," Koushirou went on, "You were supposed to have it."

"San Agmat chay bet," said Ken. "Envolet!"

"The case was stolen?" Koushirou whispered gravely, Taichi shifted closer to his friend in case the red head had another funny turn.

Ken nodded, seemingly unperturbed. He helped himself to more chicken. "Who in God's name would do such a thing?" Koushirou asked, shocked, and allowing the comforting hand that Taichi dropped onto his trembling shoulder.

Oikawa, that's who.

At that very moment, the galaxy's cruellest financier was lurching crabwise across his warehouse in his best Byronic limp, musing on how to use his zillions most strategically, to the detriment of all that is wholesome and good. For Oikawa the equation was simple: whatever course of action gave him the most benefit to himself and the least to humankind, was always to be preferred.

He was lost in these lofty thoughts when his most valued assistant scurried closer, a smallish man with tiny yellow eyes, and a pressed and crisp blue coat. "Excuse me, sir." Said Oikawa's right arm, Right Arm. "The council is worried about the economy heating up. They wondered if it would be possible to fire five hundred thousand. I thought maybe from one of the smaller companies, where no one would notice. Like one of the cab companies."

Oikawa thought for a moment. "Fire a million."

"But sir, five hundred thousand is all they need."

Oikawa turned slowly, his black beady eyes leisurely settling on his assistant. The thin scar that ran across his face was reddening. His right eyelid was beginning to flutter, a sign that he was about to fly into a vicious rage. The message was clearly written on Oikawa's face and was not lost on Right Arm. "A million! Fine, sir! Sorry to have disturbed you sir!" The man scurried away, his tiny yellow eyes watering.

Meanwhile, back on the 323rd level of a middle-income racktower, in a Spartan monastic apartment cubicle, Koushirou was talking to himself. His wild haired apprentice sat of to one side, eyeing his red haired friend nervously:

"Who would do such a thing? Hmmmm…."

Taichi shook his head before leaving the room only to return a few moments later with a bundle of clothing. Clothing that he hoped would fit the small boy sitting at the computer.

"There was this guy with a limp…and a scar, said he got it dispelling evil spirits…or was it trying to get a ghost out of his apartment? Art gallery?" Koushirou mused aloud, "Came by a month ago. Said he was, he was, oh yes an art dealer…Asked questions about the Sacred Stones."

Taichi handed the clothing to Ken, who was still staring enchanted at the computer monitor, and still clad most fetchingly in only a towel. "I didn't know your size," he apologized lightly, his brow furrowed, "So I just picked anything."

"I didn't think anything about it at the time," continued Koushirou absentmindedly. "What was his name? I'm so bad with remembering names of psychopaths…"

Ken stood up, smiling happily at Taichi. He stripped off the towel and threw it into a corner. Taichi and Koushirou stared, transfixed.

He was nude.

Wonderfully, beautifully, perfectly nude.

"Obviously he hasn't erm, read the part in history about tact?" Taichi stammered, "They really made him, uh…"

"Perfect," finished Koushirou smiling softly before turning his liquid cobalt eyes on Taichi. "Yes I know."

The two men turned away as Ken slipped into the clothing Taichi had brought him. He twirled and admired himself in front of an imaginary mirror (since Koushirou kept no mirrors in his apartment). It was almost as if he could see himself without-

"Domo danko," he said pleasantly to Taichi, rushing forward to squeeze his hand. Taichi turned around and smiled stupidly at the boy's naivety. The clothes fit perfectly.

"Ken-sama?" said Koushirou. "The Stones! Time is running out. We have to get them back."

He nodded and sat back down at the computer. "Ikset-Kiba. Me imanetaba oum dalat!"

Koushirou didn't know whether to be astonished or overjoyed by his words-or both. "You do?" he said. "You know exactly where the Sacred Stones are!?"

So did someone- or something- else.

At least, they thought they did.

A group of handsome, godlike warriors entered Oikawa's warehouse, buzzed in by the security 'bot and crowded into the elevator. The handsomest of the handsome warriors, Aknot, carried a metal case in his hand.

It was missing a handle.

The elevator door opened. With his warriors close behind, Aknot started down the long echoing corridor. Oikawa and Right Arm waited at the end. "Aknot, is that you?" asked Oikawa when he saw the warriors approaching. Aknot nodded. His handsome face was illuminated by a perfect, godlike smile.

"What an ugly mug!" Oikawa spat. "It doesn't suit you at all. Take it off!"

Aknot shrugged. His face melted away, revealing the twisted, froglike, monstrous, misshapen, crapulous, crepuscular, uncouth, carpified, face of-

-a Mangalore. The ugliest race in the Galaxy. "That's better!" Oikawa smiled. "Never be ashamed of who-and what-you are!" Aknot nodded. He gave a signal to his warriors and they too; relaxed and let their faces melt away, reviling the Mangalore hideousness underneath. Right Arm buried his head further into his blue coat in disgust.

"So what if the Federal Army crushed your entire race!" Oikawa said jubilantly, "So what if the government scattered your people to the wind. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, eh?" He opened the crate by his side. It was filled with laser rifles.

"Your time for revenge is at hand. Voila-"

The greasy haired man held up one of the rifles.

"The OF1!"

Oikawa hefted the weapon in his sallow skinned grip. "It's light. The handle's adjustable for easy carrying; good for righties and lefties…"

Oikawa threw a switch on the side of the stock. The weapon glowed and hummed with what seemed an intelligent, if malicious, anticipation of havoc and destruction. "Ideal for quick, discreet interventions," Oikawa went on, winding into the smooth sales pitch that distinguished one of the galaxy's leading arms dealers.

He nodded at the two warehousemen, who hurried to set up a mannequin at the far end of the corridor. "The last word in firepower!" barked Oikawa. "Titanium recharge, 3000 round clip. With the replay button -one of my personal innovations- it's even easier. One shot…"

Taking aim, the greasy haired billionaire fired at the faraway mannequin. A single bullet flew through the air at breakneck speed before penetrating the mannequin in the chest.

"Then hit the Replay and send every following shot to the same location!" Oikawa spun on his heel, firing the ZF1 wildly into the air as he made a complete circle. The noise was deafening as a shower of bullets flew through the air. The Mangalores all hit the deck. So did Right Arm in a flurry of blue, his yellow eyes watering at the sound. Every single shot hit the mannequin, which was rocking it on its stand.

The Mangalores, including Aknot, got back to their feet. Slowly Right Arm stumbled up-right after the creatures.

"And to finish the job," continued Oikawa unfazed by the noise, "all the usual Oikawa oldies but highly favoured essentials."

A small missile streaked across the room and buried itself in the mannequin. "The rocket launcher."

A tongue of flame licked the floor, "The always efficient flame thrower; my favourite…"

A grenade arced into the air, exploding into a net which fell over the smouldering mannequin, "Our famous net launcher!"

A flurry of arrows flew out, some sticking into the mannequin and some exploding on impact. "The arrow launcher, with exploding or poisonous gas heads-very practical!"

"And for the grand finale-" A thin stream of gas hissed out of the rifle, chilling the air as it passed. "The new ice cube system!"

The mannequin, already blasted, riddled, punctured, charred, and stuck with arrows, froze and cracked into shards of dirty ice that fell into a mass on the warehouse floor. Oikawa tossed the weapon into Aknot's stubby hands.

He pointed at the four crates at the side of the corridor, "Four crates of OF1's, delivered right on time. What about you, my dear Aknot? Did you bring me what I asked you for?"

Aknot set the mental case on one of the crates.

Oikawa touched it reverently.

"Magnificent!"

Aknot smiled a hideous smile of twisting flesh and muscle.

As Oikawa carefully, reverently, opened the case, his scarred face crashed into a cruelly blissful smile-

Whish faded suddenly as the case sprang open.

It was empty.

"What do you mean empty?" Koushirou asked.

Ken was laughing- that childish musical sound that was like the wind laughing through fields of flowers. He explained in his melodic language; while Koushirou translated for Taichi who had lent close to catch every word though he couldn't understand it.

"He says that the Guardians were afraid of being attacked. The Sacred Stones were taken out of the case and given to someone they could trust, who took another route."

"Caupo ruta welso brak!" said Ken, and he bent down over the keyboard. The computer's search engines groaned.

"Ken is supposed to contact this person in a hotel," said Koushirou, "He's searching for the address."

But instead of a list of four-star hotels, the screen showed a map of…stars.

"Dot!" said Ken finally as he pointed an elegant finger at a collection of stars.

Taichi bent down to look. He followed his finger, then picked up the mouse and clicked twice where it pointed. "Plant Fhloston, in the Angel constellation," he read.

Koushirou leant back in his chair and breathed a sigh of relief. "We're saved!"

"I'm screwed," said Oikawa.

He closed the case.

"Empty is the _opposite _of full. This case is supposed to be full. Anyone care to explain?" He fixed his blood-chilling gaze on Aknot, who, since he was already cold blooded, was unimpressed.

"You asked for a case. We brought you a case."

Oikawa twitched as his brow furrowed with repressed anger. He lost it.

"A case with four stones in it! Not one! Not two or three, but four! Four stones! What the hell am I supposed to do with an empty case?"

Aknot's warriors backed up, lashed by the fury of Oikawa's tirade. They clustered around their leader, their fingers on the triggers of their weapons which, though not OF1s, were still formidable. Oikawa and his assistants were unarmed. Right Arm was beginning to look nervous.

"We are warriors, not merchants," said Aknot coldly.

"But you can still count," said Oikawa. His voice had dropped back down to a faux-peaceful tone that was anything but soothing. He held up four fingers. "Look. My fingers. Four stones, four crates. Zero stones…" His voice dropped into an even further menacing growl, "Zero crates!"

He turned to his warehousemen. "Put everything back. We're out of here!" The warehousemen hesitated. The Mangalore warriors held their weapons levelled on Oikawa.

Aknot shook his head. "We risked out lives. I believe a little compensation is in order."

Oikawa smiled. "So you are a merchant after all." He turned to his men. "Leave them one crate. For the cause."

Without another word, he lifted the empty case and walked out. Right Arm followed. Still under the guns of the Mangalores, the warehousemen lifted three crates of laser rifles and scurried towards the elevator.

"I don't like warriors," said Oikawa as he walked out of the warehouse, onto the street. He handed the empty case to his petrified companion who was shaken from the events prior; Right Arm put the case under is arm and continued to follow.

"They're too narrow-minded!"

Right Arm nodded. He knew better than to respond. This was not a conversation; it was a lecture. "No subtlety! Worse-they fight for hopeless causes. For honour! Honour has killed millions of creatures but hasn't saved a single one."

Right Arm nodded.

Even as Oikawa spoke, a few hundred yards behind him, the Mangalores were opening the crate of rifles. "You know what I _do _like, though?" The dark-eyed man continued, as he and Right Arm got into a waiting limo, "I like a killer! A dyed-in-the-wool killer. Cold blooded. Clean. Methodical. Thorough."

Right Arm nodded.

In the warehouse, the warriors gazed at the gleaming weapons. One of the warriors picked up a laser rifle and handed it to Aknot.

"A real killer," Oikawa went on, "when he picked up the OF1, would have immediately asked about the little red button on the bottom of the gun." He knocked on the partition. "Drive on."

At the end of the block, in the top of the warehouse, Aknot turned over the gun.

He noticed the little red button.

It was flashing insistently.

He pressed it with a stubby lizard-like finger.

The warehouse disintegrated into a fiery ball of liquid hot death as it exploded.

Oikawa smiled as the warehouse went up in flames two blocks behind him. Smoke billowed out through the streets, and there was silence. Then the distant wail of sirens.

"Bring me the boy priest," said Oikawa smugly.

Right Arm nodded.

Thai Fly By was nothing if not fast.

Ten minutes after Daisuke's call, the little hovering mini-restaurant was secured to the window of his apartment. It looked like a cross between a Chinese junk, a Viking raider and a giant red-enamelled pooper scooper. But the smells that wafted up from its tiny kitchen were delicious.

Daisuke, seated at his table, and his cat, seated _on _the table, were sharing a single disposable plate of rice noodles, spring rolls and assorted Thai appetisers.

"So you forgive me?" Daisuke asked.

"Meow," said that cat, scarfing down another expensive sliver of sesame oil roasted fish.

The Thai cook knocked on the windowsill. "You got a message," he said, pointing to the glass message tube that served all the modular apartments in this mega-racktower

"I know," said Daisuke. He ignored the blinking light.

"Not going to open?"

"Later," Daisuke replied as he petted his cat behind the ears, it purred happily.

"But could be important…." Said the hovering restaurateur.

Daisuke shrugged. "Sure. Like the last two messages I got. The first one was from my partner, telling me he was leaving. The second was from my lawyer, telling me he was leaving too. With my partner."

"Oh!" said the Thai cook, "that _is_ bad luck. But mathematically, luck must change! Grandfather say: 'It never rain everyday!' this is good news guarantee! I bet you lunch!"

"Okay," said Daisuke as he raked a hand through his burgundy locks. "It's a bet."

He pulled the message out of the tube and handed it to the Thai cook. The cook opened the paper and read it with a smile that quickly faded to a frown. "I lose bet," he said apologetically. "You're fired!"

Daisuke smiled. "At least I won lunch."

"Good philosophy," said the flyby cook, sharpening his chopping knife on the side of his hovering mini-kitchen. "See good in bad! I prepare number one dessert, especially for you and pussy."

"Meow," said that cat.

Dessert was also being served at Koushirou' Spartan apartment across town. Ken was finishing off his angel food cake, daintily sucking his elegant little fingertips, one by one. Meanwhile Taichi was seated at the computer. The search engines clanked and groaned, and the screen was filled with darting digits of data.

"I got it!" Taichi cried triumphantly, "Everything we need to know about Fhloston Paradise- and a detailed blueprint of the entire hovering hotel. So, who said that I was crap on computers hmmm, Kou-_chan_?"

"Ha-ha Taichi." Koushirou replied as he approached his novice and friend, "You know I never doubted your abilities. After all you always sit and watch me on there."

Taichi raised a dark eyebrow, "I'm insulted, you think I don't have better things to do then sit and watch you, _Father_?"

Koushirou laughed as he gently slapped his friend upside the head, "Stop teasing me," he laughed merrily, "you know I appreciate your efforts."

"And my company." said the bushy haired man as he winked at his companion.

"Hush-hush!" Koushirou scolded light-heartedly as he gestured towards the small boy in the kitchen who continued to lick his dessert from his fingers, "We're in the presences of an innocent, and _you'll_ pollute his mind."

Taichi smiled over at the violet eyed boy who chose that moment to look up, blinking daintily the boy waved his Angel cake covered fingers back at the pair before resuming his work, "I'm sure he won't mind Koushirou."

"Now all we need is a way to get there." Koushirou said as he gestured towards the monitor.

Taichi scrolled on down, through reservations. "It's not going to be easy," he said. "There's a big charity ball on Fhloston tomorrow. The flights have been full for months. And with all the celebrities, the hotel will be guarded like a fortress."

"There must be a way…" Koushirou was saying, when the doorbell rang.

He got to his feet. "I'll get it."

It was Right Arm with an armed guard. An ugly, intimidating armed guard. Not that Koushirou was intimidated. A man who has been preparing all his life to battle the Ultimate Evil is rarely shaken by the lesser varieties. And the small yellow eyed man himself looked far from threatening.

"Father Koushirou?" asked Right Arm.

"My son?"

It was the first time anyone had ever called Right Arm 'son'. Even his own mother, well the woman he grew up with since he wasn't sure she was his mother, and she had only ever referred to him as 'Hey You.' It took him a moment to recover his composure.

"Mr. Oikawa would like a word with you."

"Mr. Who?"

A few minutes and a few thousand vertical feet later, Koushirou was ushered into a corner office high above Manhattan.

"Oikawa," said the man himself, rising cordially to greet his guest, "Yukio Oikawa, head over Oikawa Enterprises. Nice to see you again, Father."

He mentioned to a leather chair.

"Again?" Koushirou studied the scarred and delicately hideous face. "I remember you now. The so called art dealer."

"I'm glad you got your memory back," Oikawa hissed. "Because you're going to need it. Where are the Sacred Stones?"

"Why on Earth do the stones interest you?" asked Koushirou.

"On Earth?!" Oikawa chuckled. "Personally, the stones are of no interest to me. I'd rather sell weapons. But I have a customer for them. So tell me…"

"Even if I knew where the Sacred Stones were," Koushirou began, "I would never tell someone like you."

Oikawa looked offended. Or perhaps flattered. Or perhaps a little of both. "Why? What's wrong with me?"

"I'm a Priest," Koushirou said proudly. "I'm here to serve life. All you want to do is destroy it."

Oikawa shook his head pityingly. "Ah, Father," he said in the tone one might use to a dense child, "you are so wrong. Let me explain."

He picked up a pitcher of ice water off a side table. He poured a glass half full.

"Life, which you so nobly serve, comes from destruction, disorder and chaos. Look at this glass." With one finger he pushed the glass towards the side of the counter. "Here it is, peaceful. Serene. Boring. But if it is destroyed…"

He pushed the glass of the edge and it smashed into millions of fragments on the floor. Immediately, the floor was swarming with tiny nanobots, cleaning up the splinters of broken glass and mopping up the water.

"Look as all these little things. So busy now! Notice how each one is useful. What a lovely ballet ensues, so full of form and colour. So full of…life!"

"Life?" Koushirou watched scornfully. "They are robots."

Oikawa poured water into another glass. He then pulled the stem off a cherry and dropped then cherry into the glass. It sank.

"Yes, they are robots, but who designs them?" he asked Koushirou. "Builds them? Engineers, technicians, mechanics. Hundreds of people who will be able to feed their children tonight, so that those children can grow up to be big and strong- having children of their own, and so on and so forth, adding to the great chain of life!"

Koushirou sat in silence.

"So you see, Father, by creating a little destruction, I am, in fact, encouraging life. You and I are in the same business."

"Hardly," said Koushirou. "Destroying a glass is one thing. Killing people with the weapons you produce is quite another."

Oikawa's dry laugh was as harsh as the wind in dead leaves. "Let me reassure you, Father, I could never kill as many people in my entire life as religion has killed in the past two thousand years." He raised the glass. The cherry bobbed at the bottom like a severed head. "Cheers"

He tipped the glass back and took a deep drink.

The water disappeared.

Then the cherry disappeared.

Oikawa's eyes grew wide. He dropped the glass. He pointed as the glass then at his throat. "You're choking?" asked Koushirou. He watched as Oikawa fell, writhing, onto his massive teakwood desk.

Oikawa's arm flailed about, reaching for the desk-top communications console. His hand stabbed blindly at the row of buttons.

The phone lines lit.  
The fax machine booted up.  
The lights went on.  
A CD recorder rose from a well in the desk.  
A TV monitor emerged from the wall.

"Where's the robot to pat your back?" Koushirou asked. His voice was as dry, his tone as sarcastic as Oikawa's had been. "Where's the engineer, or the mechanic- or the children, maybe. All of whom you claim owe their very lives to you?"

Oikawa's hand continued to stab blindly at the console. The door to the office slid shut, cutting off the two men from all hope of outside assistance. A panel opened in the ceiling and a cage descended. In it was a fat multicoloured alien beast, a slug-like reptile with a trunk like an elephant's: Oikawa's pet- a Souliman Akapan named Picasso.

The cage landed on the desk, and Picasso stuck his slimy trunk through the bars to lick (or whatever) the twitching hand of his half-dead master. Koushirou got up from his leather chair and walked around the desk.

Slowly.

"We were not put upon this Earth to destroy each other, Mr. Oikawa, but to reflect the goodness of life-then infinite possibilities of life."

He paused to admire the view out of the window, turning his back on Oikawa's all but lifeless form. "That is our mission-and not to decide who lives and who dies. And if you forget that…"

Koushirou picked up the stem of the cherry from the desktop, where Oikawa had dropped it. "…nature will remind you. See how all your so-called power counts for nothing? See how your entire empire of destruction comes crashing down because of a little cherry?"

Oikawa was turning blue.

Picasso, to whom blue was a sign of affection, was turning green with happiness.

"The truth is, _my son_, that life is a blessing." said Koushirou sagely. "A precious gift, given with-love as I now give it to you."

Koushirou whacked Oikawa on the back.

The cherry flew out of his mouth, striking Picasso between his beady eyes. Oikawa sat up, dazed. He looked around and pressed a button on the desktop console.

The office door slid open.

"You saved my life," Oikawa said to Koushirou as the two guards dragged him from the room. Oikawa seemed to have finally regained his composure. "Thank-you," he said, "I now spare yours in return."

He saw his secretary at the reception desk, doing her nails. She nodded at the priest being dragged from the room towards the elevator, her misty eyes twinkling as her soft white hair floated about her face. "Have a nice day, Father," she said as the office door slid shut and the elevator door slid closed.

Oikawa opened the cage door and took out Picasso and held him in his arms. Right Arm stood quietly, waiting for the orders he knew would be coming sooner or later.

"Torture whoever you want," Oikawa hissed. "The President, if you have to. But I want those stones."

Right Arm nodded.

"You have an hour."

Right Arm's only visible yellow eye winced at his masters' harsh tone as he nodded once more and left the office.

Oikawa sat for a long time, petting his monster and watching the sun set over the vast and troubled city.

_End of Chapter S__ix_


	8. Chapter Seven

**Disclaimer: **All this stuff belongs to people who are not me.

**Author's Note: **Hihi! I thought I'd hit you all with an update to enjoy while I'm away for two weeks enjoying a nice summer holiday! (I'm going to Ibiza tomorrow if anyone cares to know) How about some nice reviews to read when I get back? Please? Pretty please? I'll bring you candy. I swear!

**Couples: **DaiKen/KenSuke forever!

The Fifth Element

Chapter Seven

Light-years away from Oikawa and his pet, three warships were positioned in front of a dark shape that had been congealed into a planet. The warships were the cream of the United Federation fleet.

The best of the best.

The planet was the worse of the worst-a dark conglomeration of an intelligent, or at least responsive, anti-matter. It seemed to literally eat light, leaving a null darkness from which the eye could not be averted.

Small bright specks were being drawn into it. One winked in from a far distance and disappeared. Then another, from another sector of the galaxy. They were drawn to its darkness as bugs are drawn to light. It was an anti-light, a vacuum that sucked in information, a black hole that ate technology.

"It's gobbling up all the communications satellites in the galaxy!" Exclaimed a voice from one of the watching warships.

Thanks to the magic of FTL (faster-than-light) plasma optics, the dark planet also appeared on a viewscreen in an office in Manhattan. The voice from the ship was heard too. The listener was a slender man who was slumped over a chair bearing the seal of the United Federation.

The President.

"Why is it eating up those satellites?" he asked as he pushed his glasses, that had slipped once more, back up his nose.

A grim-faced scientist stood as his elbow. "We're working on it, President Kido."

"I hope it chokes on them," groaned the President.

General Inoue Miyako entered the office as the scientist left. Also entering the office was a small cockroach- or what appeared to be a cockroach. The tiny antennae on its back revealed it to be a genetically altered biological (GAB) listening device. Connected to the scurrying GBA was a man in a small room across town, listening on earphones.

Right Arm.

General Inoue saluted the President and winked at his auburn haired aid Sora, who was standing ever present at his side. "I managed to contact the Mondoshawans," she said. "They deplore the incident, but accept our apologies."

The President breathed a sigh of relief. "And the stones? Did you find them in the wreckage of the Mondoshawan ship?"

"The Scared Stones weren't aboard the ship."

"What?" Jou was all ears.

So, thanks to the magic of nanotech, was Right Arm.

"The Mondoshawans never fully trusted the human race," Miyako began as she crossed the room to the desk. "So they gave the stones to someone they did trust. Her name is Plavalagunmi."

"Plavalawho?"

"Plavalagunmi," said Miyako, the lavender haired girl was smiling softly. "She's a famous diva, and she's going to sing at the charity ball on Fhloston Paradise in a few hours. She has the Sacred Stones with her."

"Excellent," Jou said happily, as Sora leaned past him with her shoe in hand.

_Excellent!_ Breathed Right Arm to himself.

"Yucky Bugs!" Sora yelled as she smashed the cockroach with her shoe.

And Right Arm's earphones flew off.  
Thanks to the magic of auto amplification.

Miyako giggled at Jou's pale face as he examined the bug and Sora's rather pleased expression, "Nice shot." She complemented.

"Indeed." Jou sighed as he regained his composure. "I want this operation to be discreet as possible. No troops, no big operation. The council doesn't have to know about this yet. I want your best man on this."

"Hmmm," Miyako hummed to herself and span in a circle slowly as she thought, much to Sora's amusement. "I have the perfect man!" The lavender haired girl grinned.

Miyako's perfect man was throwing up into his toilet bowl. His cat looked on through the open bathroom door. People had the strangest habits. But hair balls?

From the window, the Thai cook looked on with professional concern. He was holding the remains of the dessert. It was a special delicacy made with live squid, honey still in the bees, and sweetened jellyfish excrement.

"You no like the dessert?"

Daisuke gave a weak thumbs up. "I just ate it too fast," he said. "I guess."

The phone rang.

Daisuke groaned and picked it up. "Hello?"

"You are they nastiest little dirtbag I know in this stinking city!"

"Hi Jun." Daisuke replied slowly. He held the receiver a few inches from his ear.

"I've been playing twice a week for twenty years! Twenty years I've been eating those shitty croquettes!"

Daisuke crossed the room and found some left over pocky to sooth his stomach. Grinning, the red-head pulled it from its wrapping and shoved the treat into his mouth. Half-heartedly he listened to his ranting sister as he hunted for more of the sweet treat.

"You wouldn't even eat one to help your own sister, and you win the big prize? Know something? The whole thing makes me sick!" she screeched down the line.

"I can relate, sis." said Daisuke, even though he had no idea what she was talking about. Stretching languidly the boy winced as the match box in his pocket poked him in his chest. Meanwhile, at the window, the Thai Fly By was starting to clean up.

Daisuke covered the receiver. "Go ahead. This could take a while."

"I leave it here," said the cook. "Go ahead, take your time." He put the dessert on the windowsill and cast off with a wave. The dessert was still moving. From inside the crust, Daisuke could still hear tiny screams.

"Are you still listening, you ingrate?" Jun hissed down the line.

"Yes, Jun." said Daisuke, sitting down at his table. "Other than that, you alright?"

"And now you're making fun of me. I'm warning you brat!" Jun screeched in anger. "If you don't take me after all those years of sacrifice, I'll never forgive you!"

"Sacrifice?" Daisuke asked quizzically. "What do you know about sacrifice?"

"Hey! I had to sacrifice my dignity with you as a little brother!" Jun shot back angrily.

"Jun, what are you talking about?"

"I get it. You want to make me beg, is that it?" the oldest Motomyia moaned dramatically.

"All I want is an explanation," Daisuke shot back. "I just got in, I lost my job, I smashed my cab. I got mugged, but other than that everything's peachy, Jun. Thanks for asking. Now settle down and explain to me what you're talking about."

"You just won a trip, you dolt! Ten days in Fhloston Paradise for two!" Jun hissed still angry.

"Jun, if I had won, I would know about it. Someone would have notified me."

"Meow" The cat was looking at the message tube. The 'incoming' light was blinking.

"They've been blaring out your name on the radio for the last hour, blockhead!"

Daisuke looked at the message waiting in the tube. He was just about to reach for it when a sudden ringing from the doorbell blared about his apartment. "Jun it's the door. Wait a second."

He clicked the hold button and turned on the hallway security monitor. He saw a familiar face. Too familiar. He clicked the phone back on. "Jun, I'll call you back."

He opened the door.

"Nice apartment, Dai-_Chan."_ Miyako laughed, entering without waiting to be invited, "I suppose I should call you Major, really."

Behind her was a woman in uniform. A sort of woman. All she needed to be a man was a moustache.

"Looks like you've settled into the wonderful civilian life since leaving the service," Miyako quipped as she rolled her honey eyes. "Except I hear you've lost your job."

Daisuke's arms were folded. "I'll find another one." He said defensively.

"Don't bother," she said grinning at the red-head. "We have a job for you."

"Nice to see you're still thinking of me," said Daisuke.

Miyako spun to face him, her lavender hair whipping around her face with a slight whooshing sound, "Always Dai-_Chan_. Though I hear you don't swing my way anymore!" she winked, "Shame really. Alas however, we've been thinking of you more than ever."

She snapped her fingers and the female officer opened a file and handed him a sheet of paper, "Major Daisuke Motomiya," Miyako read in her best clipped and pressed military tones, her grin gave her away, she found the whole situation terribly amusing. "You have just been selected for a mission of the upmost importance."

"What mission?"

"To save the world!" Miyako smiled and pinched the man's check, he slapped her hand away.

"I was afraid of that," said Daisuke. "I think I've heard this song before."

Miyako ignored him. "You are to leave immediately for Fhloston Paradise. Retrieve the four stones from the Diva Plavalagunmi. And bring them back with the upmost discretion possible." Miyako handed that paper back to the female officer, who put it back in the file.

"Any questions?"

"Just one," said Daisuke. "Why me? I'm retired, six months already. Remember?"

"Three reasons," Miyako replied easily. "One- as a member of the Elite Special Forces unit of the United Federation armed forces, you are an expert in the use of all the weapons and spacecraft needed for the mission. Two- of all the members of your unit you were the most decorated."

Daisuke raised a burgundy brow remaining unconvinced. "And the third one?"

"You're the only one left alive."

Before Daisuke could respond, Miyako bent over the flashing tube and took out the incoming communication. It was two tickets wrapped in a message. "Don't you bother to open your incoming?"

"I've had enough good news today," said Daisuke.

"You have won the annual Gemini Croquettes contest, a trip to Fhloston Paradise," Miyako smiled again, reading without looking at the message. "For two. Congratulations."

She handed the tickets to Daisuke, who looked at then, then back at the General. "You rigged the contest?"

Miyako grinned and nodded.

"You couldn't come up with something a little more-discreet?"

Miyako shook her head. "Old tricks are the best tricks," she said. She stepped back and the second female officer stepped forward. "Major Iceborg here will accompany you, as your wife."

Daisuke blanched and shook his head, "I am not going."

"Why not?" Miyako asked.

"One reason," said Daisuke. "I want to remain the only one from my unit left alive."

The hallway was dark.

Strange insects scurried out of sight, as Ken and Koushirou searched for Daisuke's apartment. Ken carried the cheap flashing business card Daisuke had given him, as he studied each door, and then the card, with all the intensity of a child learning a new language.

_Match!_

He held the business card next to Daisuke's nameplate on the door, and was just about to knock (a universal sign meaning 'request entry') when Koushirou grasped his hand.

He looked at him inquisitively. "Asin get let deloun omekta?"

Koushirou carefully pealed Daisuke's nameplate off his apartment door. "Your friend won the last to tickets available," he said. "I can assure you we are not the only people with the idea of contacting him."

He handed the nameplate to Ken. "Stick it on another door-down the hall."

Daisuke's doorbell rang.

"'Scuse me," he said to Miyako and Major Iceborg. Looking through the peephole he saw what he first thought was a fantasy, and then a vision from heaven. It was him!

Ken.

The most gorgeous boy in the world-at his door!

The he remembered Miyako and Major Whatshername. "Shit!" he muttered under his breath.

"What is it?" Miyako asked, worried. "Is something wrong?"

"It's my…husband!" he blurted out.

Miyako didn't know whether to laugh or be afraid, "You're remarried?" she asked finally.

Iceborg looked on icily.

"No," said Daisuke. "I mean, yes. I mean, soon. It's a brand new thing. You can't stay here!"

"Why not?" Miyako asked, "I'd like to meet Mr. Motomiya-to-be, is he cute?"

"Yes, I mean no." Daisuke floundered. "He hates everything in a uniform. If he sees you guys here, it's all over. Please! You made my first big relationship hell. Don't screw this one up before it starts. In here…"

He punched a wall button. A conveyer hummed as his shower was replaced by a walk-in freezer. Taking Miyako with one hand and Iceborg with the other, Daisuke herded them both towards the freezer.

"Major!" Miyako yelled angrily, "we have no time for this!"

"A minute!" said Daisuke, opening the freezer door. "It'll take a minute. I'll set up another meeting with him." He shoved them both into the vault-like freezer. "Be right with you!" he called to Ken.

He jammed the half-eaten jellyfish cake into Miyako's hands. "Don't eat it!" he warned, and before the general could protest, he slammed the door. "Coming!"

A mess! The prettiest boy in the galaxy was at the door, and the place was a mess! Daisuke's long dormant hormones raged through his body, and he saw is apartment through Ken's perfect violet eyes.

Disgusting!

He swept the dirty dishes off the table and into the trash (which groaned with faux-biological satisfaction). He rolled his dirty clothes up into a ball, and shut them up in the folding bed. Whipping a comb out of his vest pocket, he ran it though his thick hair in hopes to tame it. Too little avail.

The with a smile of anticipation, he opened the door-

And looked straight down the barrel of a gun held by the red-headed Priest, Koushirou. Daisuke hardly noticed. He only had eyes for Ken, who was standing behind the priest.

"Apipoulai!" he chirped happily.

"I suppose that means _Hi_," said Daisuke.

Koushirou pulled Ken into the apartment, and Daisuke shut the door behind them.

"I'm sorry we have to resort to such methods," said Koushirou, waving the gun menacingly. "But we heard about your good luck on the radio, and we need your tickets to Fhloston Paradise."

"Is this the usual way priests go on vacation?" asking Daisuke, in what he hoped was a voice dripping with scorn and irony.

"We're not going on vacation," said Koushirou gravely. "We're on a mission."

"What kind of mission?"

"We have to save the world," said Koushirou.

Daisuke sat down at the table and laughed. "Is there an echo in here?"

Koushirou looked at him, uncomprehending.

"Oh, no," said Daisuke sarcastically. "I get it. It's Tuesday, right? Tuesday must be save-the-world day. So tell me, Father, are you going to save the world by yourself?"

"Well, of course." said Koushirou with unaffected sincerity. "But if you want to help, we would be thrilled."

Ken smiled his agreement.

Daisuke didn't notice. He was too busy shaking his head _no no no, _and pointing his thumbs down. "Izumi," he said, "I was in the army for a while, and every time they told us we were on a mission to save the world, the only thing that changed was that I lost a lot of friends. So thanks for the offer- but no thanks."

Koushirou looked disappointed. Ken, standing right next to him, looked absolutely devastated. His radiant smile was gone. Daisuke saw the disappointment in his wide violet eyes, and was just about to reconsider, when the silence was broken by an amplified robotic voice from outside the window.

'_This.is.a.polive.control.action.'_ the demotic robotic voice droned menacingly.

Koushirou backed up against the wall, panicked, the gun in his hand forgotten. Daisuke made his move and took the gun from his hand and went to the door, peering through the peephole.

The hallway was swarming with cops. A squad was standing on the landing, armed with lights, crowd control bungees, shields, helmets, and laser rays that could see through every door into every apartment.

"Oh my god," Koushirou whispered frantically, "Do you think they are after us?"

"Let's not find out," said Daisuke. He pushed the wall button again, sending the walk-in freezer to the next floor, and returning the shower in its place. "Ken," he said turning to the vision of a boy, "hide in there, and don't move!"

Without hesitation, he jumped into the shower and the door hissed shut behind him. Daisuke then opened the folding bed.

"What are you doing?" Koushirou demanded.

"Trying to save your ass," said Daisuke, shoving the priest onto the bed, into the pile of dirty laundry. "So you can save the world!"

He pressed the button that sent the bed back into the wall. He grabbed the two tickets off the table and slid them into his belt-

Just as a transparent circle suddenly appeared on the apartment door, where the cops had slapped on a _see-thru_ sticker.

'_Spread.your.legs.and.place.your.hands.in.the.yellow.circles.' _said a robotic cop voice.

Two smaller circles appeared on the door. These were laser holding devices.

'_Place.your.hands.in.the.yellow.circles.Please' _

A cop was peering through the _see-thru. _He was holding a 'Wanted' sheet with Daisuke's picture on it. It was an old military picture, showing Daisuke with long hair and a beard.

'_Hands.in.the.yellow.circles.now!'_

Daisuke moved slowly towards the door, keeping his face turned away as much as possible.

"Are you human?" asked the cop, straining to get a better view.

"No," said Daisuke cockily. "I'm a meat popsicle."

The cop was just about to examine Daisuke's face up close when a voice came from down the hall. "I found him!" It called.

The nameplate on the door said Daisuke Motomyia. The cop stuck a _see-thru_ sticker on the door; Daisuke's nasty neighbour was shaving. His face was covered in shaving cream. Almost like a beard. The cop turned off his robotic bullhorn. Why make a big fuss and annoy everybody?

"This is a control," he said politely. "Please put your hands in the yellow circles."

Daisuke's nasty neighbour peered through the transparent circle on his door. He saw two young cops, nervously holding stun guns and a picture of a guy with a beard.

They saw a guy shaving.

"Open the door!" they called.

Never at a loss for a response, the nasty neighbour said what he always said when faced with a new irritant in an always irritating world: "Fuck you!"

Daisuke heard it all from his own apartment. He heard the police request and the nasty guy's answer. Then he heard the blasting of the door, the stun gun shots, the struggle. He smiled. "Wrong answer."

There were more footsteps, and more cops came running. Daisuke watched through the _see-thru_, which was already fading to black opacity. He saw the cops dragging the squirming arrest bag down the hall, manhandling it down the stairwell.

"Okay, okay!" one of them was hollering down to the street. "We got the guy under wraps."

Right Arm also heard it all. He was on the phone in Oikawa's office, patched into the police phone lines via cell phone.

"It wasn't easy, but we bagged him," a police lieutenant said over the phone. "Thanks for the tip."

"Glad to help," said Right Arm. He smiled under his big blue overcoat as the phone line went dead and hung up.

"They just arrested this Motomyia character for uranium smuggling," he said proudly to Oikawa. "Everything is going as I planned."

"Uranium smuggling?" Oikawa was sceptical. "I thought he was wanted on traffic violations and evading arrest?"

"A clerical error," Right Arm sneered. "I patched it into the allpoints code just to make sure."

He showed Oikawa a forged plane ticket and passport- both in the name of Daisuke Motomiya. "All I have to do now is go to the spaceport and take his place. I should be on Fhloston in less than four hours."

Oikawa was unimpressed. "Don't come back without the stones."

Daisuke opened the shower. Ken was standing under the spray, shivering violently.

"I'm sorry," Daisuke apologised. "I forgot the hot water doesn't work to well in this old rack tower."

He dragged a blanket out of the corner and wrapped it around the shivering boy. He snuggled into his arms, still trembling fiercely. Daisuke's rubbing slowed, passing gradually over the line that divides a friendly rub from an intimate caress.

"It's funny," he said. "I've met you twice today, and you've ended up in my arms both times."

Ken smiled and snuggled even closer. "Vallo massa. Chacha hamas." He mumbled hypnotically.

"Uh…you're welcome," Daisuke uttered as he nervously pulled away. "Coffee! That's what you need," he said brightly. He hit the control pad on the microwave.

_Such eyes!_ They made him nervous. "A nice hot cup of coffee. With honey." Hadn't he sworn of relationships? So why was his heart pounding with a desire he dare not voice?

"With honey!" Daisuke said agitatedly. "You'll see, honey's great!"

But where was the damn honey? Daisuke opened drawer after drawer, rummaging through six months of unsorted bachelor debris. "A hot cup of coffee…with honey…"

Ken seemed to want to help. Still wrapped in the army blanket, he followed him around the tiny apartment, opening and shutting drawers. "Huh Knee!" he chirped merrily.

"I've got this great honey somewhere," Daisuke babbled nervously. "You know about honey? There used to be these little animals with antennae who made it…"

Ken found a picture in one of the drawers; he took it out and held it up. It was Major Motomiya Daisuke, War Hero. Accepting a medal for Valour Above and Beyond.

"…and there were those other animals that ate it," Daisuke went on. "Some were called bees and some were called bears.

Ken looked from the War Hero to the nervous, fumbling man who was babbling to him about bears and bees…

And he smiled.

"I forget which ate it and which made it," said Daisuke distractedly. "But…here it is!" He held up and old-fashioned screw-top jar. He unscrewed the top.

"Taste this."

Ken stuck his lovely finger into the pot of honey; then stuck the same finger into his lovely mouth. Daisuke was mesmerized.

"It…melts in your mouth, uh, doesn't it?"

Ken nodded. He sucked his finger sensually, violet eyes lidded in a haze; then dipped all four slender fingertips into the jar, and sucked them clean…one by one by one by…

Daisuke was lost.  
Gone  
Helpless.

He was so enthralled by the sight of Ken that he didn't even hear the muffled knocking from inside the wall. Until it became a steady thud.

The thumping gently beckoned Daisuke from his daze and the chocolate orbed man blinked heavily to dispel the beautiful boy's magic. "Do you hear that?" Daisuke asked half-heartedly.

Ken nodded, still licking his fingertips. "Kou Shee Roow." He uttered lightly.

"Oh, God!" Daisuke yelled as he pushed the button on the wall, and the bed popped open. Koushirou was tangled in the dirty laundry, upside down.

"I'm really sorry," Daisuke said quickly. "Let me help you!"

"We don't need your help," said Koushirou, untangling himself with all the dignity he could muster.

Before the red-headed priest could speak again there was a sudden sharp beep which screeched through the apartment.

"Coffee's ready," said Daisuke. He crossed to the counter and poured a cup for himself and one for Ken.

"I'm warning you," he said. "Coffee's not my speciality."

He turned to offer him a cup- and saw that Ken had removed his wet clothing. He was ringing them in the sink.

He had set aside the army blanket.  
He was nude.  
Shockingly, fetchingly, adorably, magnificently, wonderfully and totally nude.

Perfectly nude.

Embarrassed, Daisuke turned away, back toward the coffeepot. "Maybe I should keep it hot," he muttered. "I like it…hot."

Behind him, Koushirou was studying a heavy, dusty military trophy- and award Daisuke had gotten during a forgotten war and now used as a paperweight. Koushirou hefted it, then raised it over his head- and brought it down over the back of Daisuke's head.

A short, sharp shock.

Ken looked as Koushirou angrily. "Vano da, mechtaba? Soun domo kala chon hammas!"

"I know," said Koushirou apologetically. "I'm not proud of myself. But we don't have the luxury of choice."

Meanwhile, the police SWAT team was taking the bagged nasty neighbour out the entrance to a waiting curser, when they to, felt a short, sharp shock. With a sick popping noise three tranquiliser shots fired from silenced weapons, and the cops folded up like newspaper in the rain.

Three Mangalore warriors, experienced shape shifters, picked up the body bag even as their features were shifting back to their natural, hideous form. The strain of looking human had taken its toll, and all three warriors were exhausted. They hauled the body into the back of a hovering van, where Aknot, still alive but seriously injured from the warehouse blast, was waiting impatiently.

"Daisuke Motomiya," said the Mangalore hit team leader, indicating the squirming bag. "We got him!"

"Perfect," groaned Aknot. "Take command, Akanit. Go to Fhloston and get the stones. If Oikawa really wants them, he'll have to negotiate."

He closed his narrow eyes. "Revenge is at hand!"

Daisuke struggled to his feet. He looked around the apartment, which had only just recently been graced with the beautiful image and presence of Ken. And the grim priest who were now both gone.

"Jesus!" Daisuke spat. He put a hand to the back of his head. It was sticky with blood.

The plot thickened.

Before Daisuke could move to take account of the situation an annoying ring filled the now silent apartment, the phone. The burgundy haired man picked up the receiver with one hand, while he kept the other on the back of his head.

"Yeah?"

"Have you pulled yourself together yet?!"

"Not yet, Jun."

He hung up.

Daisuke's head was killing him. He needed ice. He pressed the wall button and the conveyer groaned, replacing the shower with the walk in freezer. He opened the door and faced the frozen stares of General Miyako and Major Iceborg. Daisuke blushed as he realised he'd forgotten about the pair.

"I'll accept the mission," Daisuke said, grabbing a few cubes and closing the door once again.

_End of Chapter Seven_


	9. Chapter Eight

**Disclaimer**: All this stuff belongs to people who are not me.

**Author's Note: **Yeah so I have exams coming up at uni so no more updates till summer break. Boooo! You know it's really hard writing in this style; my style is much more descriptive. One day I might re-write this entire thing but in more detail rather then how it is in the book. But ah well no one is reading this anyway!

The Fifth Element

Chapter 8

Manhattan intergalactic airport was almost full.

Of trash, not travellers.

A strike was in progress, and the sanitation workers had let the garbage pile up almost to the ceiling of the lobby. Narrow paths bulldozed through the debris led to the check-in counters and terminal gates. Striking workers marched and chanted. Some were human, some were 'bots or 'droids; others were alien or altered. They all carried picket signs.

The police, meanwhile, were massing to move in. The air was thick with tension, like the electricity before a storm.

Taichi, the priests' novice, was watching when he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Yaahhh!" he cried, jumping back. He turned and saw Koushirou and the lovely Ken, still dripping wet- but fully dressed.

"Did you get them?" asked Koushirou, never a man to beat about the bush.

Taichi rolled his chocolate eyes and nodded. He handed his mentor and friend two passports. "Of course I did, and I'm fine by the way how are you?"

"Excellent," said Koushirou, opening them and studying the forgery work and ignoring Taichi's sarcastic question. He handed one to Ken. "Ken Motomiya."

He smiled delightedly and took it.

"And Daisuke Taichi Motomiya. Perfect!" Koushirou handed the passport back to Taichi who again rolled his eyes dramatically.

Ken's smile faded. "Akta dedero ansila deno poerfect?"

Koushirou shook his head. "Ken, I can't pretend to be your husband. I cannot protect you as well as Taichi can, he's in great shape. He's young, he's strong. He'll protect you much better then I could."

Taichi seemed to swell up with each syllable of praise; he playfully punched the red-head in the arm and winked slyly. He then held out a hand to Ken, who took it somewhat reluctantly.

Two shots fired behind the three and Koushirou looked around nervously towards the strikers as the cops moved in and more shots were fired, he pointed towards the line at the check-in counter. "Go on! See the Diva, get the Sacred Stones. I will wait for you at the temple. God be with you!"

Daisuke ducked as a wild shot shattered the glass behind his head. He dogged and weaved as he ran across the trash-filled airport lobby. He scanned the crowd, looking for Ken. All he could see were strikers, diving head first into the garbage piles to avoid the charging police. The gate sign was flashing: 'Fhloston Non-Stop, First Boarding Call."

Casually brushing off two policemen who had mistaken him for a striker, Daisuke picked his way through the garbage towards the check-in counter.

"Congratulations," said the check-in attendant. Taichi looked confusedly back at the cherry eyed woman who smiled sweetly. "On winning the Gemini Croquette contest- the trip to Fhloston Paradise!" the attendant said, as she stapled the boarding pass to Taichi's ticket and handed him back his passport.

"Oh yeah," he replied.

"I made it!" Daisuke called, as he rushed up behind the Priests' Novice. He jammed his knuckles into Taichi's back like a gun, and snatched the passport out of his hand. "I really thought I was going to miss my flight," he added to the confused attendant.

Ken's face broke into a wide smile.

"Thanks, dude," Daisuke said, hustling Taichi to one side. "You put the luggage on the conveyer belt?" He poked him convincingly with the 'gun'.

"Uh, yeah," Taichi said haltingly.

"Great!" Daisuke chirped, giving Taichi a playful but effective shove into the garbage pile. "Now beat it!"

Daisuke turned his most charming smile on the confused check-in attendant. "I was so afraid I would miss my flight-" he glanced at her name badge, "-Hikari, that I sent my good friend there to pick up my boarding pass."

Ken smiled, and held out his hand for his own ticket. The russet-haired attendant held back Ken's boarding pass and passport. She looked at them suspiciously. "Your husband?" she asked Daisuke, portraying none of her suspicions in her sweet voice.

Daisuke grabbed the passport and read it. "Uh, yes," he said. "Newlyweds. Love at first sight. You meet, something goes 'tilt', you get married, you hardly know each other. Right, darling?"

Ken reached across the counter and grabbed his boarding pass from the blinking attendant. "Dinoine chagatakat!" he cheered, gazing up through his eyelashes at the cherry-eyed girl. She smiled at him.

"Took the words right out of my mouth, sweetie. Go on, I'll be right with you." Daisuke turned back to the still smiling attendant. "It's our honeymoon," he said with a broad wink. "He's nervous."

A familiar nasty face was entering the front door of the airport, clambering over and through the festering garbage. It was the face of Daisuke's nasty neighbour, accompanied by a young woman with a curiously blank expression. As the two picked their way through the garbage, they were almost knocked over by a huge pink blast-

A police pig, on a steel chain leash.

"Come on Snyffer, go root!" said a pork-patrol handler, running along behind the pig. The nasty neighbour stepped aside, then pushed on towards the check-in counter. The blank girl followed.

A few feet away, Koushirou watched from a stool at the Take off Bar, nursing his second martini. "I feel so guilty," he said to the robot bartender. "Sending Ken to do the dirty work- like these poor police pigs. I know he was made to be strong, but he seems so fragile. So human. Know what I mean?"

The bartender had a monitor for a face. It glowed with compassion and nodded gravely.

Robots are good listeners.

The nasty neighbour handed his ticket to the cherry-eyed attendant.

She looked at him, surprised.

"Motomiya? Daisuke Motomiya?" she asked, flicking a strand of auburn hair from her face as she examined more closely.

"Yes," said the nasty neighbour. "That's me."

Hikari smiled politely. Meanwhile, her foot tripped a switch that turned on an overhead ultra light passenger scanner. The ultra light revealed that the nasty neighbour and his blank-faced girlfriend were both Mangalores.

Hikari prided herself on never blowing her cool, however. "Just a moment, please." She said in her sweetest the-customer-is-always-right voice. With her other foot she tripped a silent alarm. Sensing trouble, the Mangalores both backed away.

"We'll be right back!" said the nasty neighbour, suspiciously. He grabbed his 'girlfriend' by the hand and dragged her away, into the crowd.

"The same?" asked the robot bartender.

Koushirou's ebony eyes were glazed over. "Yeah." He muttered.

"Make that two," said a voice as his elbow. Koushirou was surprised to see Taichi seated on the stool next to him.

He sobered up real fast. "Where's Ken?" he asked in a horrified whisper when he noticed the violet-eyed boy wasn't present.

Taichi swallowed his martini and slammed the glass down on the bar, cowboy style. The stem snapped. "On the flight. With that Motomiya guy. The real one. You never told me he was a gun wielding loony Kou, _really_ shouldn't hold that kind of information back."

"What?!" Koushirou hissed.

"Gun wielding loon, Kou." Taichi repeated as he downed the red-head's martini as well. "Seriously, he put a gun right here," Taichi went on. He turned on his stool and showed Koushirou the small of his back.

"Oh, my lord." Said Koushirou. "This is all my fault. I'm the servant; it was my mission. I should have never given it to you."

Taichi was already ordering his third martini. Koushirou reached under his cassock and snapped the chain around his neck. He handed the crooked steel finger to Taichi.

"Here!"

"Huh?"

"The key to the temple," said Koushirou as he tossed down Taichi's martini. "Go and prepare for out arrival. I go to face my destiny!"

And he was gone, into the milling crowd. Unfortunately, he was right behind the Mangalore, whose nasty-neighbour face was flickering in and out of focus as he and the 'girl' ran, faster and faster, toward the airport exit.

"Tell Aknot that plan A flopped," the neighbour Mangalore said to the girl Mangalore. "Go to plan B."

She nodded and peeled off, jumping over the garbage towards the exit. Two cops stepped in front of the neighbour Mangalore. He drew his ZF1 and fired twice, and then dove into the pile as the cops fired back.

As the bullets flew from and into garbage one cop reached for his walkie talkie, "Send back up!" he yelled as he began firing into the mess. "Zone 7!"

Koushirou was backed against the wall, trying to avoid the flying bullets. A trap door opened in the wall behind him, and thee gigantic pigs rushed out, followed by their armoured pork-patrol handlers. The trap door bobbed up and down, then started to close. Koushirou looked right, then left- The got on all fours and crawled through the trap door, just before it closed.

"Excuse me!" Daisuke yelled.

He was being led by a stewardess down a long hall in the first class lounge. She had insisted that Daisuke come with her. Her high heals clicked as the walked so fast that he could barely keep up.

"I shouldn't leave my husband alone," protested Daisuke. "My husband- when he's nervous he's…." he searched for the word to describe Ken; then he found it: "…unpredictable!"

"This will only take a minute," the stewardess said. "Yamato Ishida is the quickest DJ in the universe. You are _so_ lucky!"

Daisuke wasn't so sure.

"Listen," he said evenly, "I'm sure he's very cool, but I don't want to be interviewed. I'd prefer to remain anonymous."

The stewardess stopped and turned to face Daisuke. "Forget anonymous!" she giggled. "You'll be doing Yamato Ishida's live show every day from five to seven."

Daisuke was beginning to perceive the magnitude of the public relations circus to which he had, unwittingly, attached himself. "You have got to be kidding," he said, even as he was realising that she not only didn't have to be, but wasn't. The stewardess smiled and shook her head. Not kidding then.

A door burst open, knocking a few new stars on the already sore heaven of Daisuke's consciousness. Through the door came a being of intense vivacity, impeccable sartorial integrity, and intermittent intelligibility. A stunning pale man with finely styled and prized blonde hair, dressed in an elaborate blue shirt with a swirly white design down one sleeve and tight comfortable black pants. The 24th century's most popular DJ.

Yamato Ishida.

"Daisuke Motomiya!" said the DJ, speaking into a mike that doubled as a silver cane, in a rhythmic voice that sounded more like rap than radio reportage. "Here he is! The one and only winner of the Gemini Croquettes contest!"

Yamato turned to scan the crowd that was already gathering around him. "This boy is fuelled like fire! Ladies, start melting because he is hot, _hot_, hot!" Yamato put his hand on Daisuke's arm. "Right size!" he said. "Right build, right hair, right on! And he is ready to say something to those fifty billion eager ears out there!"

He stuck the mike in Daisuke's face.

"Uh…hi!" Daisuke replied simply.

Yamato winced and pulled back his silver rhinestone-studded mike. "Well you know what they say about the shy quiet ones!" he said.

He grabbed Daisuke's arm and led him down the hallway. The crowd fell behind them. "Ladies and Gentlemen!" crooned the blonde. "He's gonna set the world on fire, right here from five to seven! You'll know everything there is to know 'bout Daisuke Motomiya! His dreams, his desires, his most intimates of intimates! And from what I'm looking at, _intimate_ is this guy's middle name!"

He bent down and put the mike in Daisuke's face again. "So tell me, you nervous?"

"Uh…not really," stammered Daisuke

Yamato rolled his expressive blue eyes and threw his arm around the stewardess winking at her. The procession paused at an intersection in the corridor, where the airline's catering service has placed a robot with a tray of champagne glasses. Yamato grabbed a glass, drained it, tossed it away; all the while scribbling autographs as he rapped non-stop:

"Yesterday's frog will be tomorrow's Prince of Fhloston Paradise!" An aide handed him a cue card. "The hovering hotel of a thousand and one follies, dollies, and lickin' lollies! A magic fountain flowing with non-stop wine, women, and woo whippin' hoo! All night long!"

Daisuke looked on amazed, as the smooth and supple DJ grabbed two stewardesses by the arm, and continued rapping as easily as others walk or breathe. It seemed to be an unconscious activity with him; the rhymes and rhythms flowed without thought as his eyes apprised the crowd that followed him everywhere he went.

"And start licking your stamps, little girls, this guy's gonna have you writin' home to momma! Tomorrow from five to seven, I'll be your voice, your tongue, and I'll be hot on the trail of the sexiest man of the year! Daisuke! Your man! My man..."

There was a beep as an electronic voice hissed, "End of transmission."

Yamato stopped in his tracks. The hallway fell silent. Two assistants ran up to the blonde. One with a cigarette, another with a match. Yamato lit the cigarette, blew out a cloud of dissolving smoke, and asked, "How was it?"

"Oh green!" said on assistant.

Yamato rolled his eyes, ass kissers. "Green huh?"

"Oh green green green!" said the other assistant. "Super green. Crystal green!"

Yamato approached Daisuke. He put his hand on his arm, and in a condescending voice, said, "Daisuke, sweetheart, do me a favour…"

_Sweetheart? _Daisuke looked at the DJ sceptically. _Favour?_

"I know this is probably the biggest thing that has ever happened to you in your inconsequential life," said the blonde. "But I've got a show to do here and it's got to be good, better than good, great! So tomorrow, when we're on air, give me a hand."

_A hand?_ Daisuke stared unbelievingly at the arrogant acting DJ

"Try to make believe you have more than a six word vocabulary. You get it, pal?"

Instead of answering, Daisuke shoved him out of the way. Yamato glared quickly catching up with the man whispering quietly. "Look guy, you don't have to like it, okay? It's all for show! Just go with it."

"I didn't come here to play Dumbo on the radio. So tomorrow between five and seven, give _yourself_ a hand. You get it, pal?" Daisuke hissed

Yamato was glaring at the brunette, "Whatever." He hissed, Daisuke turned and gave the blonde a heated glare. "Yeah okay, it's not like I've had to work with amateurs before."

Hikari, resplendent in her see-thru dress and vinyl pillbox hat, examined the two tickets in her hand.

She read them curiously. "Motomiya? Mr. Daisuke Motomiya?"

"That's right," said Right Arm, giving her his most persuasive smile which peeped out from his blue coat.

Which was not very persuasive. With her foot, the young girl tripped the passenger scanner, and its ultra light beam played across the face of Right Arm. "The problem is," she said sweetly, "I have only one Daisuke Motomiya on my list. And he's already checked in."

"Impossible!" said Right Arm, his smile shattering. "He's in jail- I mean, there must be some mistake. I have my ticket. And I am the _real_ Daisuke Motomiya!"

A bell rang at the end of the gate corridor. "Sorry sir," Hikari said, smiling at the weird man before her. "Boarding is finished."

Right Arm reached for the girl, just as a thick plexi screen rose from the check-in counter.

"I'm Daisuke Motomiya!" Right Arm yelled, thinking of the torments Oikawa would prepare for him if he failed. "I want to see your boss! Get rid of this stupid window! Somebody's made a mistake, god dammit!"

He pounded on the counter with both fists. The only result was that a steel curtain descended to back up the pleix screen.

'_..exercise_!' said a robotic voice from an indeterminate spot in the air, where an atmospheric speaker node had temporarily coalesced. Red laser sighting beams sliced through the air, forming target spots on Right Arms body.

'_....._.'

Gun barrels protruded from the wall, the counter, the floor. "Sorry!" said Right Arm, in his best dealing-with-insane-authority voice. "Just a littler overexcited. That's all. I'm _calm_ now…"

Daisuke hated space travel.

The military ships were bad enough, with all the cannon fodder lined up in hard aluminium seats, each man lost in his own nervous thoughts as he was warped across the galaxy towards the latest suicide mission. Commercial coach class was even worse.

Standing room only, and a tiny bag of dry roasted peanuts unless the trip was over a hundred light years, in which case you got a half cold sandwich and a peanut-butter cookie. But this trip was different. No cattle car, no peanuts. First class only.

"Ken," Daisuke whispered as he made his was towards the back of the spaceship. The corridor was lined with small private cabinets. "Ken…"

As if in answer to his deepest wish and fondest dream, a cabinet door slid open silently and there he was-stretched out on a velvet cushion, studying a computer screen. He flashed Daisuke a galactic-quality smile as he sat down besides him.

"Apipoulai!" Ken uttered cheerfully.

The cabinet door slid shut, and he turned back to the characters scrolling past on the screen. The search engines were humming.

"Yeah, I know," said Daisuke nervously. "Ken listen to me. Those tickets you borrowed-they're not mine. I mean, they are, but not for a vacation like everyone thinks."

Ken shrugged. Did he understand? Daisuke wondered. Sometimes he seemed to understand everything-and at other times nothing. All he knew for sure was that he was on dangerous mission, and he wanted to keep him out of the line of fire. "I'm working for some very serious people," he said. "And if I didn't come here with you, you'd be in a shitload of trouble. I'd love to be on vacation with you-"

It felt so good to tell the truth!

"But not now! Now I've got to work. And Ken- I would love to work in peace. Understand?"

Seemingly in answer, Ken typed a four-letter word into the keyboard: L-o-v-e.

"Yes!" said Daisuke. "But 'love' isn't the operative word here. 'Peace' is."

Ken typed in P-e-a-c-e

"Peace," he parroted, repeating after Daisuke. "And love…"

The computer's search engines whined and brought up a picture of a 1960's style hippie in love beads, flashing a peace sign. Daisuke sighed. He had read about hippies. Anti-war. He was anti-war, too, but from the inside out, not the outside in.

"Bad example," he said, switching of the computer. "You know, you can't learn everything from a screen. Sometimes it's better to ask someone who has experience."

"Okay!" said Ken, nodding happily in a flurry of indigo hair. "What is…_make love?_"

"Uh…" Daisuke stared at Ken. Such a combination of innocence and experience. He had never hesitated in front of someone like this before, but this boy, this man, was…different.

This man was truly what he wanted, and therefore he was truly afraid for the first time. "Know what?" Daisuke said, blushing beet red. "Maybe on that subject maybe you'd be better off asking the screen."

And he switched the computer back on.

Meanwhile, in the corridor, a disembodied robotic voice announced in soothing tones. "...........…"

A stewardess made her way along the corridor, pushing a red button on top of each first class flight cabinet. And in the cockpit, the captain and the co-pilot were completing their preparations for departure.

"826 passengers aboard and accounted for…"

Roger, checking list for pre-flight…"

"Okay! Finished!" Ken said, as he turned to his rusty-haired companion.

He was speaking English? Daisuke looked at him in amazement. "Finished what?" he asked attentively.

"Learning languages." He switched off the computer.

"You mean…English?"

He nodded apathetically. "All nine hundred!"

Daisuke was amazed. "You learned all nine hundred Earth languages in just five minutes?"

"Yes! Now it is your turn. I learned your languages; you have to learn mine."

"I know how to say 'hello'," Daisuke said. "Apipoulai."

Ken nodded happily in yet another flurry of indigo hair.

"Teach me how to say goodbye," Daisuke said. "That's all I need to know."

"Apipoussan!" Ken called happily.

"Apipoussan?" Daisuke repeated tentatively.

Ken smiled. "Good! Do you know how we say 'make love?'"

"Uh…" Daisuke fumbled.

"Hoppi-hoppa," said Ken helpfully.

Daisuke's heart and his resolve were melting rapidly as he looked into the eyes of the most beautiful creature he had ever beheld. "Help," he mumbled in a small voice to himself. At that moment, the stewardess pressed the snooze regulator button on top of Daisuke's cabinet, and checked another name off her list.

"Sweet dreams, Mr. Motomiya," she said.

Daisuke, who was about to take Ken in his arms, fell into his instead.

Instantly asleep.

At the other end of the corridor, another stewardess was having a problem. This problem was with a celebrity. The stewardess was used to galactic celebrities. This was a first class shuttle, after all. But this was the most famous galactic super celebrity she had ever met.

"Mr. Yamato Ishida," she said, "you'll have to assume your individual position."

He pulled her into his cabinet and down onto his lap, "I don't want an individual position," he said. "I want all positions."

The stewardess pulled back.

But not to hard.

"We're going to take off soon, Mr. Ishida!"

The blonde buried his nose in her hair. "I'm going to fly us both across the galaxy and back!"

In the cockpit, the captain was flipping switches on a long row of identical switches with a series of clicks. The fell before his fingers like bowling pins at a tournament.

"…axis authorisation confirmed…" droned the co-pilot.

The head stewardess entered the cockpit. "Zone 1. Snooze regulators operative," she said. The captain checked out her cute little see-thru suit.

"Roger that." He said

She left with a smile.

Suddenly a green light flashed on the control panel. "Alert the ground," said the co-pilot

"There's a problem?" asked the captain impatiently. He was busy watching the stewardess's elegant departure.

"We've got parasites in the landing gear."

Moments later, on the ground, a truck pulled up under the massive underbelly of the galactic shuttle. Two men in the hi-tech, lo-risk hermetically sealed disinfectant suits got out. They uncoiled a hose and sent a bright beam of cleansing fire up into the shuttle's wheel well. Screams were heard. High pitched screams, low groans, curses, cries exclamations and imprecations. A rain of hideous creatures dropped from the well, falling onto the stained tarmac.

While the disinfectant crew was vacuuming the still twitching parasites into the morguetank on the truck, another truck pulled up. Two me climbed out and opened a trapdoor under the shuttle. A phosphorescent tube as big as a log fell out.

"Yeah it's me," said Right Arm. "Put Oikawa on." Right Arm was standing in the airport lobby, using one of the mobile phone booths that wandered around looking for customers.

"I'm listening," said Oikawa coldly from the other side of the line.

"The real Daisuke Motomiya is on the plane!" said Right Arm. "He took my place!"

Oikawa's voice was as cold as midwinter midnight. "This is a joke right?"

Yamato's arms and legs were wrapped around the stewardess as his hands explored her erogenous zones. "No!" he whispered passionately into her ear. "I swear to God. I've never been this sincere…" The stewardess wavered. He was, after all, more than famous. He was superfamous.

"…with a human before," Yamato finished, punctuating his heated sentence with a playful nip on the stewardesses neck.

"Really?"

"I'm fuelled with sincerity," said Yamato as his hips began to thrust forward urgently.

Two ground crew members put away the dim phosphorescent tube. Two others, one of them human, the other from an outer galaxy species, inserted a new, highly phosphorescent tube into the shuttle.

The long slow insertion stroke was almost sexual.

The spaceship seemed to groan with pleasure. "Fuelled and ready to go," said the ground crew leader into a wrist mike.

In the cockpit, the captain answered, "Thank you."

He turned to his co-pilot. "Ready for lift off?"

BREAK

"No!" said the stewardess, still weakening.

"No?" Yamato whispered sensually. This was not a word he was used to hearing.

"I mean…not yet! I'm not ready."

"Not ready?"

"I like to talk first."

Yamato brightened. Talk first, talk later, talk during- it was all talk to him. And he began to rap sweet nothings into the stewardess's ear, as he began to disassemble her uniform.

"I can't…hear you," Oikawa said. "We have a… connection here."

The pay phone was waiting patiently. Right Arm looked around at the garbage-filled lobby for another, but they were all in use.

"What's… number?" Oikawa asked. "I'll call you right back."

Right Arm wiped the crud off the mobile pay phone's faceplate with a blue sleeve from his jacket. "278-645-321," he read.

"I'll… you right back," said Oikawa cheerfully. Too damn cheerfully, Right Arm though, with a sudden involuntary chill.

The disinfectant truck rolled off in one direction. The fuel truck rolled off in the other. A man in a cassock stepped out of the shadows where he had been waiting. It was Koushirou. He looked up into the now disinfected wheel well.

Pausing for an instant, he prayed swiftly and silently. Then he climbed up the landing gear, into the wheel well, as swiftly and silently as a capuchin monkey.

"Power pressure," said the co-pilot.

The captain knocked down another row of switches with quick successive clicks.

"Primed."

The stewardess had six buttons on her blouse.  
Yamato make up a poem for each one.  
Her brassiere had two hooks.  
Each was a sonnet.

"Protection?" asked the captain.

A shield dropped into place around the shuttle's engines.

"Confirmed," said the co-pilot.

The stewardess's legs rose slowly into the air.  
They spread wider and wider and…

Oikawa punched in the phone number his right arm, Right Arm had given him.

"278…"

Just as the captain pulled back on the throttle.

"Ten seconds!"

"Power increase…"

Just as Right Arm fended off and angry phone customer, "Come on, come on…" he muttered.

Just as the stewardess dropped her shoes, one by one, and crooned, "I'm on my way..."

Just as Oikawa punched in more numbers:

"645…"

Just as the engines peaked.

And Yamato began his climactic Byronic stanza.

And the shuttle lifted off.

And the stewardess likewise: "Yeeeesssss!"

And Oikawa, smiling demonically, punched in the final numbers:

"321…"

And with a cataclysmic boom.

The payphone exploded.

And right Arm was no more.

Along with everything and everyone else that had been within sixty feet of the pay phone.

Oikawa hung up a lit a cigar.

The stewardess's scream softened to a satisfied whisper.

In the cockpit, the co-pilot said, "Landing gear secure."

The captain locked in the autopilot and disabled the cockpit smoke detector. "Let's light one up."

_End of Chapter Seven_

Much love to everyone who has added this to there favourite lists and to those who have reviewed of course ^_^ you make checking my emails way more interesting.


	10. Chapter Nine

**Disclaimer**: Nothing's changed since last chapter. All this stuff belongs to people who are not me. Still.

**Author's Note: **Well I've finished my exams and did pretty well, thanks for asking! Oh-no-wait you didn't ask did you? :D Anyhow, checked my emails this morning and found a lovely review from **Rueme **so this chaps for you ^_^ also continued thanks to **RumorUnderOath. **Keept trucking guys! /shrug/

The Fifth Element

Chapter 9

First class! What's not to like?

Particularly with the new FTL (Faster Than Light) Warp-Hop-Fold&Jump drive, which uses the electricity of stretched superstrings to pull both Space and Time into conveniently traversed, commercially viable trade and travel routes.

Certainly, Ken and Daisuke were enjoying their trip. In Daisuke's first-class cabinets they slept soundly. Ken's little hand was cuddled comfortably in Daisuke's big one, just as the two of them were cuddled in the warm, safe passenger area of the quarter-mile-long intergalactic shuttle.

Across the galaxy, however, a malevolent force was waiting.

The Dark Planet.

The Ultimate Evil.

Lights flashed across its surface, like random electric storms. Nearby (relatively) in the admiral's starship, a technician turned away from her view screen. Her face showed a mixture of relief, anticipation…and terror.

"Sir, we're finally getting something!"

Across the galaxy in the other direction, the President was slumped at his desk. A slim man, President Kido had, like Lincoln (an ancient leader of the constituent political entities of the United Federation), poor posture when it came to events that could have extreme impacts on the people whom he led.

"It's sending radio signals!" said one of the President's scientists, who were standing with the other scientists behind the line of generals.

Jou groaned, but relaxed when his personal Aid, Sora rested a hand on his shoulder. "What the hell does it want with radio waves?"

"Maybe," whispered Sora into his ear, "it wants to make a call."

Jou and all the other generals who had heard the young woman's reply turned and looked at her in astonishment.

Oikawa sat in his office at his teak desk.

The man admired the desk because it was immense and handsomely constructed, strong and reliant just like the man that sat behind it. The last teak tree on the planet had been cut down and sawed up to make his desk. That made it even more special to the greasy haired man.

Picasso sat (or slumped, or squatted, or whatever it is that whatever it was does) on the desk, purring contentedly.

The shrill shriek of the phone cut through the room like a knife through soft butter.

Picasso growled.

Oikawa activated the intercom. "I told you, I don't want to be disturbed!" he barked angrily to his white haired receptionist.

"_Mister Shadow _on the line," hissed the woman, enunciating slowly.

Oikawa got to his feet. Picasso tumbled to the floor and with trembling hands the pale man picked up the receiver.

"Oikawa here."

The voice that came through was dim, weak, and feeble, as if it came from the remotest reaches of Time and Space. But it was no less impressive for all that. "_**Am I disturbing you?**_"

"No!" Oikawa hurried in reply. "No! Not at all. Where are you?"

"_**Not far now."**_ The voice hissed slowly.

"E-excellent!" stammered Oikawa.

"_**How is our deal coming along?"**_

"F-fine," the man continued nervously, he was after all speaking with something which was pure evil, "Just fine. I'll have the four stones you asked for anytime now. But it wasn't easy."

Silence on the line.

A black, slimy treacle like liquid began to ooze from the top of Oikawa's head.

"_**Money is of no importance,"**_ said the voice on Oikawa's line. _**"I want the stones."**_

"The stones will be here," Oikawa said in terror. The black liquid was oozing from his skull, over his brow, and down his narrow sunken cheeks. "I'll see to it personally."

"_**I can't wait to be among you."**_

The line clicked.

Dead.

Instead of hanging up, Oikawa stood motionless in the centre of his palatial office. The black liquid was slowly fading from his face.

Only the trembling of his hands showed his total terror.

Across the galaxy, the Dark Planet was suddenly lifeless.

Dead.

"We lost it," said the tech on the bridge of the Admiral's starship.

"We lost the signal," said the general who stood by his side, speaking direct FTL link to the United Federation headquarters in Manhattan, New York, Earth.

Jou was a calm man, a polite man, a considerate man, however none of this seemed to register as, in reply to this new information the young man seemed to hiss the word which seemed to sum up his opinion of the situation,.

"Damn it!"

"We got something!" said General Miyako, rushing excitedly into the President's office; she winked slyly at the auburn-haired Aid as he eyes landed on her. Miyako was almost fully recovered from her sojourn in Daisuke's freezer; she'd have to personally repay the favour when she next laid eyes on the brat.

"What do you have?"

"A location," said Miyako. "The signal came here. The contact was on Earth. Somewhere in the Northern hemisphere."

Jou raised two delicate cobalt eyebrows. The gesture was as impressive as the opening of a hangar door. "This-_thing_-knows someone on Earth? General, warn your man. He could have trouble. Tell him to keep his eyes open."

Miyako grinned, saluted, and then rushed out. It seemed that yet again she would be the one to safe Daisuke's ass.

Peace prevailed in First Class Cabinette #327 of the intergalactic shuttle starship, _Pride of Brooklyn. _

Daisuke was snoring gently.

Ken lay awake in his arms, watching him sleep. A flicker of what might have been love shone in his deep violet eyes.

A kilometre ahead, in the cockpit, the captain clicked the last in a row of glowing switches. "Leaving light speed."

The starship shuddered only slightly. More like a snuggle, really-back into the familiar, comforting arms of Newtonian space.

Light filled the Cabinette.

Daisuke stirred but didn't wake.

Ken was awake but not stirring.

What was more beautiful- the face he turned on Daisuke? Or the turquoise, cloud-flecked planet seen through the window, toward which the shuttle was swiftly descending?

"Ladies and gentleman," came the Head Stewardess's voice. "We have begun out final descent towards Fhloston Paradise. The local time is 3:28P.M. The outside temperature is a constant 82 degrees Fahrenheit. We hoped you enjoyed your flight today, and we hope to see you again soon."

In the corridor, stewardesses were pressing the wakeup buttons on the cabinettes, one by one. In one cabinette, Yamato Ishida and the stewardess awoke with a start and began straightening their clothes.

The stewardess was embarrassed, but only slightly. The man who had ravished her was, after all, one of the most supercelebrities in the galaxy.

"I wanted to tell you..." she began.

Yamato silenced her with a finger to her lips. Dropping his sunglasses over his eyes, he left the cabinette-and left the stewardess to her sighs.

Clouds whipped by the wings like half-acknowledged thoughts as the shuttle drifted down toward a turquoise sea. Hovering a down yards above the water was the Fhloston Paradise, a grate floating hotel, modelled after the cruise ships of the past.

The shuttle suddenly appeared tiny as it drew near the great resort liner-like a sardine approaching a whale.

The stewardess hit the button on top of Daisuke's cabinette, and he awoke.

He looked around, his chocolate eyes adjusting to the brightly light-filled cabinette.

Where was Ken?

He panicked.

The captain slid the shuttle into the receiving dock on the Phloston Paradise. Airlocks equalized, and the two-story-high door opened. The most eager of the shuttle's passengers were already gathered at the door, waiting. When the door opened, the flooded off into the board decks of the most luxurious liner in the known universe, decorated and appointed to resemble the fabulous Normandie of twentieth-century Earth.

Near the front of the crowd was Ken.

"Excuse me."

At the back of the crowd was Daisuke.

"Pardon me!" Daisuke jostled, hustled, fumbled, wedged and squeezed his way through the crowd of eager vacationers, trying to get to the front of the line.

"Hey, dude! You can't just…"

"I'm trying to find my husband," Daisuke muttered. He pushed the complainer against the wall. "Sorry!"

At the end of the passageway, just inside the reception deck of the Fhloston Paradise, a phalanx of cops in full riot gear waited.

For what?

Ken saw them and stopped; he squeezed himself against the wall and let the crowd go by. Meanwhile Daisuke had almost caught up with him. A gorgeous topless hostess in a grass skirt dropped a let around his neck.

"Welcome to Paradise," she said-and planted a kiss on his lips.

Daisuke's eyes rolled wildly as he tired to break away. Where was Ken?

The he saw the inky-haired boy.

A fat man in a sarong-also topless- was dropping a lei around Ken's neck. He smiled and planted a wet kiss on his lips-

"A mistake," Daisuke whispered, as he saw the fat man straighten up suddenly.

He was smiling, but his nose was spurting blood as he sank slowly to the floor.

"Never without my permission," muttered Daisuke. He pushed through the crowd toward Ken, whipping the lipstick from his face.

But he was gone.

After punching the fat man, Ken ducked around a corner and saw a door marked 'Personnel Only'. He stopped and punched random numbers into the code lock.

Nothing happened.

Looking over his shoulder, he twisted the knob.

There was a sharp crack as he opened the door.

To see three cops sat on three toilets, reading mail-order catalogues.

They looked up at him.

Ken smiled and closed the door behind him.

Where was he?

Always pushing toward the front, Daisuke followed the crowd through the high arched door, into the reception desk of the Fhloston Paradise.

Suddenly behind him he heard a shriek, followed by a chorus of oohs and aaahs! It was Yamato Ishida- and he was heading straight for Daisuke. The crowd parted around him like the sea around the prow of a speedboat.

A talking speedboat.

"Daisuke!" Yamato said, grabbing Daisuke's arm. "Please don't leave me here alone! My head is killing me and my adoring fans are going to tear me apart! Get me outta here!"

Daisuke pulled back- then took pity on the DJ. "I'll take you to the bar," he said." After that, you're on your own. Okay?"

"Oh, yeah!" said Yamato, clutching Daisuke's arm as if it were a life preserver. "Do that!! You know sometimes this whole over-the-top-flamboyance act gets a bit too much. I could do with friends like you. So tell me about yourself: your roots, your personal life, got any childhood dreams?"

"I don't think now is a good time," said Daisuke distractedly. He was still scanning the crowds for Ken.

"You got any brothers or sisters?" asked Yamato. "They as cute as you?"

"I gotta sister…" said Daisuke, standing on his tiptoes, still trying to see into every corner of the crowded deck, "but you wouldn't want to meet her…she's crazy and even crazier about you."

No luck.

No Ken.

He dragged Yamato toward the bar, and cleared a space for the two of them.

Yamato turned to him, a glint of sadness in his azure eyes. "I had a brother. Never saw him much, after my mom left. Fifty billion people hear me every day, and he doesn't hear me…"

"I understand," said Daisuke, placing his hand on Yamato's shoulder. "Well you're at the bar. Ciao!"

Yamato turned to thank the spiky haired man, who was already gone. "How can he leave me like this?!" he groaned.

A voice at his elbow interrupted the DJ's self-pitying reverie. "Mr. Ishida! I'm the manager of the hotel. Welcome to Fhloston Paradise! The Princess Catherine of Minas Japhet would like to share a drink with you."

Yamato looked at the manager, uncomprehendingly. Then he looked down the bar to where the manager's finger was pointing. He raised his sunglasses and saw a young blonde woman in an impossibly brief dress with an improbably welcoming smile.

Yamato smiled back at her. "When in Rome…" he muttered.

In the cockpit, the captain and the copilot were going over their post-flight checklist. The captain looked up and saw the blinking green light.

"Shit!" he said. "Parasites again!"

The copilot looked at the light, pressed a button for a location readout, and shook his head uncomprehendingly.

It wasn't the wheel well.

He got out his barca and walked to the rear of the cockpit. He reached up and unscrewed an overhead electronics access panel.

The door swung open and Koushirou Izumi fell out, dangling from a tangle of wires.

"Have we arrived yet?" the Priest asked.

The pilot raised a skeptical brow. "Yeah."

Koushirou smiled brilliantly. "Oh good."

_End of chapter Nine_

Police: Are you classified as human?  
Korben Dallas: Negative, I am a meat popsicle.

Peace out!


	11. Chapter Ten

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing  
**  
Author's Note: ** I'm back my lovelies! How the heck have you been? I want to know everything I've missed! So come on! Tell! Tell! ... This is a juicy chapter right here I hope it'll tie to over till the next one... anyways!_ Read and Review_ my dear readers and let me know how this one goes down because I liked writing this bit :D

**IMPORTANT**: Seriously guys! Get on Youtube and get 'The Diva's Dance' song from 'The Fifth Element' film ready for this chapter (search: Eric Serra - "The Diva Dance Remix" )... trust me on this one!

**Note**: '?' equal scene changes, unless the formatting messes up in which case it doesn't! Ha!

The Fifth Element

Chapter Ten

Daisuke had arrived.

He knew it as soon as the hostess opened the door of his complimentary stateroom. He had never seen such luxury, a bed bigger than King-size, gossamer curtains, royal blue and gold everywhere. It was shameless, or shameful, or whatever- but he was not ashamed. _What the hell!_ He thought.

But, more importantly though, where was Ken?

The bellhop followed him into the room, carrying with him two bags and as Daisuke had brought nothing with him he assumed that they were Kens'.

Sighing and rubbing a hand across his face Daisuke flopped down onto the bed, glancing toward the bedside table he noticed a formal invitation, which boasted front-row seats at the Diva Plavalagumi's concert, at 5:30. The dress code indicated it was a 'Black tie' event.

Frowning, Daisuke sat up and regarded the hostess in confusion, "For the concert it says formal attire." He began, "but I didn't bring anything!"

The hostess grinned, flipped her brilliant blonde hair, and ran a fingertip along a touch-sensitive latch, and the closet door slid open. Daisuke couldn't stop his jaw from dropping, which caused the hostesses grin to widen to an impossible width (it was kinda creepy), as twenty tuxedos, all in his size. In ever colour of the rainbow, plus a couple that hadn't appeared in nature slid out of the closet.

"Welcome to Paradise!" The hostess chirped as she gestured towards the clothes with a flourish.

Daisuke stared; they had certainly thought of everything and looking at the fine tuxes made him feel like a bit of a slob in his scuffed everyday civilian-ware. He stood and was about to change when the phone rang.

The hostess was at his side in moments, moving at what seemed like the speed of light, and pulled the phone from its cradle and placed it in Daisuke's hand.

"Hello?"

"You little sleazebag!"

"Jun?"

Smiling politely, the hostess backed out of the room, taking the bellhop with her. Daisuke nodded his thanks.

"Don't you ever ask me for another thing in my life again! You've killed your poor sister with your own hands!"

Daisuke found a chair and sat down. He rolled his mahogany eyes at the ceiling and put the receiver back to his ear.

"Jun..."

?

"All right, Father," said the Fhloston Paradise Security Chief.

He mentioned politely and Koushirou sat down in front of the cop's desk.

"Let's hear it."

Koushirou was about to speak, when the door burst open. A young cop whose uniform was festooned with communicators, bells, whistles, chains, and security devices of every kind rushed into the Chief's office.

Iori had been alive for twenty-five years, and for eight of those twenty-five years he'd been a policeman, just like his father, and his father's father though his father's father's father had been a baker. ..

An officer for eight years he had never lost his initial enthusiasm for the job.

The Chief eyed Iori warily; presuming that the mans breathlessness was a result of trouble somewhere in the hotel.

"What is it, Iori?" he asked.

"The Diva's ship is coming in, sir!" the emerald-eyed boy saluted respectfully.

"I want maximum security," said the Chief.

"Yes, sir!"

Saluting once again Iori turned to exit, but the Chief stopped him with a word. "Iori?"

"Yes, sir?" he replied turning and regarding the Chief quizzically.

"Do you know why I told you that?"

"No, sir."

The Chief sighed. Iori was an excellent policeman but often when instructed by someone who he deemed official and high-ranked he rarely questioned orders, in many cases it was a damn good quality to have, but the Chief worried that down the line the boy would be taken advantage of and wind up in trouble.

"Well, listen up. This Diva sings only once every ten years. For three minutes. I have eight thousand people here who have paid a fortune to hear her. If something goes wrong then we're all for the chop. Got it?"

"Yes, sir!" said Iori. He saluted, turned smartly and left.

"Okay, Father," the Chief said to Koushirou. "Your song now."

"I was in my parish," Koushirou began. "The bell rings, so I open the door and..."

The office door banged open again.

Three cops limped in, bloodied and bandaged.

"A bomb?" The Chief asked standing from his seat nervously.

"Yeah," said the only one of the cops who could speak. "A five foot, nine inch bomb with indigo hair and violet eyes!"

At this, Koushirou perked up. "Yes!" he said to himself.

A little too loudly.

He looked up to see the three cops and their Chief all staring at him curiously. Koushirou laughed anxiously and pulled at his collar before leaning over the desk towards the Security Chief. "May I speak with you alone?"

?

The Diva had arrived!

Doves flew into the air, and bright jellyfish were released into water (as stipulated in her contract). Smoke bombs and flares spattered the sky, and the swelling notes of a brass band announced her arrival to the assembled multitudes (as stipulated in her contract)

She stepped off her tiny private starship onto a red carpet (as... you guessed it, stipulated in her contract) and a gang of muscular bodyguards cleared her way into the reception desk of the Fhloston Paradise, and down the long corridor.

Those who had come to admire the Diva Plavalagumi's legendary beauty were disappointed, for a pink and white chiffon veil covered her face- though the long pink tentacles of her 'hair' were clearly visible, writhing most appealingly.

Ken cut through the crowd of admirers, and headed for the corridor, where he could see the Diva, and be seen by her. He had followed the porters carrying the Diva's voluminous belongings, which included a cactus of enormous stature, until he was halfway down the corridor, out of sight of the crowd. There he stopped and pretended to admire a painting hanging on the wall.

It was a beautiful rendering of a warrior in green bidding farewell to a village in sunset as he headed out to battle. It had been knocked askew by the porters and was hanging upside down.

After the porters came the security police, then the bodyguards. Then the Diva Plavalagumi herself, followed by her managers and personal assistants, numbers one through ten. Ken turned to face the Diva as she passed...

And the Diva stopped.

She reached out and touched Ken's cheek.

A crackle of static electricity flew between the pair.

The bodyguards and assistants (one through ten) jumped back, startled.

The Diva walked on, followed by her retinue. Her third associate persona assistant hung back until the rest were gone, and then whispered in Ken's ear:

"Miss Plavalagumi wants me to tell you that she will give you what you have come to get. But she wants to sing first... one last time!"

Ken blinked owlishly at the assistant but nodded. The assistant, a short girl with stunning blonde hair and even more stunning blue eyes beckoned Ken closer.

"And one more thing..." she whispered

The assistant turned the painting right side up.

Ken smiled. It looked much better.

?

"Miss Diva..."

The Diva approached her dressing room, and found it guarded by a squad of security cops, standing in ranks. In the front stood a short, sharp cop hung with medals, devices, insignia, belts, chains, cuffs, whips and a flashlight or two.

"I'm Iori, head of security for your visit."

Diva Plavalagumi ignored him, sweeping past him as if he were a houseplant.

Iori scowled lightly but continued, "Everything is in order. You can..."

The Diva's retinue followed her, and Iori addressed them as they passed.

"...make yourselves at home safely. If you need anything..."

The blonde assistant passed and gave the serious boy a sympathetic smile. Then the dressing room door slammed in his face.

"Give a knock!"

?

Putting on a tux was difficult enough for Daisuke, who had quit the military because he hated dressing up (amongst other things). It was more difficult with one hand, which was all he had free. With the other he held the phone away from his ear while he tired to placate his sister.

"...and anyway!" his sister was shouting, "What happened to that nice boy from Russia you were dating? When are you going to settle down! Are you listening? I don't want my baby brother to die alone! Daisuke? Dai? Are you listening to me? And another thing..."

Thankfully the doorbell cut her off.

"Hand on, Jun. It's the door."

"Did you bring somebody? You should have brought me you scumbag! Oh, is it a new boyfriend? Is he cute? Daisuke? Have you had se-"

"No!" Daisuke yelled into the receiver which was held at arm's length, "I told you I didn't bring anybody."

Daisuke opened the door of his suite. Standing there was the most beautiful boy in the galaxy.

"Apipoulai!" Ken said with a smile, brushing past him into the suite.

Daisuke, entranced, closed the door behind him and brought the phone to his ear. "Listen, Jun, I'll call you back..."

"I knew it! I knew you brought along a new toy to fu-"

Daisuke hung up the phone.

"You're very cute in your costume," Ken said. He found his suitcase on his bed where the bellhop had left it, and pulled out a beautiful silken shirt and pants. He laid the outfit on the bed and started taking of his clothes.

Daisuke blushed and, somewhat reluctantly, turned his back.

"Ken, wait a minute! I'm a kind of old-fashioned guy, you know. I'm not saying no- I would love to say yes. But we only met this morning..."

"You know," Ken said, ignoring his embarrassment, "women normally change clothing five times more than men."

"Oh yeah?" Daisuke asked. "You get that off the screen?"

"Yes," Ken replied. "You can turn around."

Daisuke turned around.

What he saw was only a little more- or less- than what he had both feared and hoped to see. Ken was more beautiful than ever in his shapely dark pants and white shirt which seemed to make his gorgeous violet eyes glow.

"Where are you going?" he asked, as his brain tried to process it all.

"With you," Ken said matter-of-factly. "I'm going to see the Diva sing."

Daisuke was reeling. He had never wanted to feel this way again. Especially now, when he needed to keep his wits about him. More importantly than anything, he needed to keep Ken safe and out of danger.

He sat down heavily on the side of the bed.

Ken looked down at his outfit- frowning at the apparent response it had drawn from the burgundy haired man, why did his clothes make him seem all red in the face and sad?

"What's the matter?" Ken asked slowly as he stood in front of Daisuke. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No, not at all," Daisuke replied. "I mean, just the opposite. You're... you're _beautiful!_"

Ken's face lit up. "Thank you!"

Daisuke shook his head resolutely, and then reached into his back pocket. "I have something for you," he said.

Ken stood on his tiptoes excitedly. "Gift? For me?"

Daisuke pulled out a single stainless steel bracelet. "It will go perfectly with your outfit."

Ken held out his hand. "What do you call it?" he asked, as Daisuke slipped it over his slim and prefect wrist- and snapped it shut.

"A laser handcuff," he said.

He pressed a button on the side of the cuff, and a light blue laser beam shot from the floor to the ceiling, trapping Ken where he stood.

Ken inhaled sharply. Betrayal, bleeding into wide violet eyes.

"Army issue, latest model. I'm sorry Ken, but I told you, I have to work in peace." Daisuke said.

"You!" Ken hissed. "You're nothing but a..."

"I know exactly the word you're looking for," said Daisuke. "It's not in the dictionary you studied. I won't be long."

He pulled on his tuxedo jacket.

Just then the door burst open and Yamato rushed in, looking flushed.

"Hey, Daisuke, we gotta go! I have a show to do you know!"

He saw Ken, twisting in his stunning outfit, his hand pinioned about his head by the laser beam.

Yamato smiled.

"Daisuke, my man, what in heaven's name is going on here? Who is this lovely boy?"

Daisuke glared.

Yamato's smile turned into a grin, "Did I interrupt something? Maybe next time I can join in?"

Daisuke strode over the blonde DJ and punched him, a little harder than necessary, in the arm.

"Maybe later." He hissed, pushing Yamato out of the door.

He followed, locking the door carefully behind him.

?

A few hundred light years away, thanks to the magic of FTL technology, President Jyou Kido and his staff of scientists and generals were listening in on the galaxy's 'most happening' radio show.

The President sat at his desk.  
The generals were arrayed behind him.  
The scientists behind them.  
Two speakers emerged from the presidential desktop.

"It's now five P.M Central Galactic Time, time to join Ishida Yamato and Motomiya Daisuke, the lucky winner of the Gemini Croquettes contest... Live from Fhloston Paradise!"

?

Imagine Madison Square Garden, the Grand Canyon, the Eiffel Tower and Albert Hall all wrapped up in one, then hung with gilt and glitter, and filled with low-cut gowns and high-topped shoes.

Now triple that, and you have some idea of the magnificence of the Fhloston Paradise Concert Hall.

Daisuke and Yamato entered side by side.

Daisuke was scanning the crowd, alert for danger. Yamato was, as usual, talking, this time into a floating 'skeeter-mike' that followed him like a mosquito, hovering near his fast-moving mouth. Daisuke had noticed that Yamato seemed to have two personalities; on-mike-Yamato was an arrogant-loud-mouth-sex-pervert, while off-mike-Yamato was entirely more bearable, if still a sex pervert.

It just so happened that he was stuck with on-mike-Yamato for a while. Daisuke sighed. It would be a long two hours.

"This place is probably the most beautiful concert hall in the universe!" the DJ was saying, gesturing as though his audience could see him, which they couldn't. "A perfect replica of an old opera house... but who cares!"

He and Daisuke passed between rows of gilt seats, all filled with elegantly dressed vacationers and culture-vultures, all (variously) wearing unisex tuxedos, faux-fur robes, jewelled g-strings and voluminous gowns.

"To my left, a row of former ministers, more sinister than minister! To my right a few generals practicing how to sleep! And there's Baby Ray, star of stage and screen!"

With a brief nod of recognition from Yamato, they passed an aging actor whose face was locked in a stiff grin from too many tucks and lifts.

"Ray's drowning in a sea of nymphets!" Yamato grinned, "but he's not going to get much out of this concert..."

Ray was bending his ear down toward a girl who was asking for his autograph. "To who?"

"...since he's stone deaf! And over there is the Roy Von Bacon, king of laserball and the best-paid player in the league!"

Yamato reached out to quickly slap hands with an enormous fat man, then sashayed on down the aisle, with Daisuke following.

"And here we have the Emperor Kai Spore, whose daughter Princess Catherine of Minas Japhet..."

Yamato gave the high sign to a spiky dark haired man wearing an equally dark coloured outfit with the words 'I'm your worst nightmare brought to life.' Embossed across the chest, and was that a whip at the man's side?

"...is still in my bed! 'I love to sing' she recently confessed to me. And now _un peu de champagne!_"

Yamato grabbed two long-stemmed glasses off a tray held by a handsome, godlike waiter. He handed one to Daisuke and moved on down the aisle, still blabbing into his skeeter-mike.

?

The waiter handed off the last two glasses of champagne on his tray, and then edged through the crowd. He opened a service door and entered a room filled with 'waiters'

Away from the crowd, he relaxed, and his shape-shifting face resolved into a froglike visage of a Mangalore.

Another Mangalore was passing out ZF1 laser rifles.

Akanit, the 'waiter' leader, opened the door a crack. Outside, in the concert hall, the lights were going down. The first strains of music were coming up. Akanit smiled a hideous Mangalore smile.

"It's showtime!"

?

Several decks above the concert hall, in Daisuke's stateroom, Ken was struggling to get free of the laser cuff that held him pinned between the ceiling and the floor.

Suddenly his sensitive ears picked up a strain of unearthly music.

He tilted his head to one side in a cascade on inky indigo, and smiled in spite of himself.

The music was... perfect!

The concert was beginning.

?

Daisuke sat besides Yamato in VIP seats on the first row.

The Diva Plavalagumi walked onstage in the dim light.

The lights went down, and a spot showed the Diva herself, unveiled, resplendent in a shimmering blue-green gown.

A human-alien hybrid, the Diva combined in one elegant body the special beauty of all the races in the galaxy (except, of course, the hideous Mangalores). Her shapely head was topped with a single long, rearward-curving horn. Pink tentacles dotted with darker red shades, descended from her brow like intelligent hair, writhing and waving happily in response to her fans' applause.

Her face, unveiled for the public only once every decade, was beautiful, soulful, and radiant with interstellar emotion.

The music of the three-piece synth-orchestra rose to an introductory crescendo.

The Diva took a deep breath and joined in- and took the music to new heights of emotion and expression.

It was divine, unmatched.  
Daisuke listened, spellbound.  
He felt something unfamiliar on his face.  
He reached up and touched the side of his cheek, and his fingertips came back wet-  
The tears he had always been afraid, as a man, to cry.  
Salty tears of joy and sadness, mixed.

?

Ken had stopped struggling to get loose.  
He was struggling only to listen.  
A song was floating up through the corridors.  
The Diva's heavenly voice filled the Fhloston Paradise, vibrating through the hallways and the stairwells of the floating hotel until the structure itself was throbbing with unforgettable emotions of love and loss.

Ken closed his deep violet eyes and let the song wash over him.

Ken's tears were sweet, not salty.

?

On the bridge of the Fhloston Paradise, the captain was also listening to the Diva's song- when he was rudely interrupted by a call from the First Officer.

"Captain, I have a ship in trouble. Requesting permission to dock for repairs."

Usually such a request would be denied and the ship sent to the nearest repair facility. But the music! The deep emotion, the compassion, the unearthly beauty of the Diva's song stirred something in the captain's usually quiet soul.

"Put him in the docking garage." He said. Then added, as an afterthought: "Inform security."

?

In the tiny Spartan cockpit of a ZFX200 space fighter orbiting Fhloston, the First Officer's voice came over the speaker.

"Permission granted. Dock 12. You have one hour."

Oikawa switched off the com-speaker and leaned back in his barca- he smiled a smile so evil that it would crack the heart of a statue.

"More than I need!"

?

The Diva's divine music soared through every deck in the immense floating hotel. It filled every heart. Almost. One person whose heart was not filled, who was not listening, in fact, was the Diva's manager.

He was in her stateroom, with the door closed to cut down the 'noise'. He was trying to open a bottle of Scotch that had been sent to the Diva by one of her myriad of admirers.

The cap was stuck.

The doorbell rang interrupting the man's efforts. "Yeah?" he called.

"Flowers for the Diva," came a low, gruff voice.

"She's allergic to flowers," said the manager (who was himself allergic to the Diva)

"There's champagne as well."

"In that case..."

The manager set down the recalcitrant Scotch bottle and opened the door, only to find himself staring down the wicked-looking barrel of a ZF1.

A dozen Mangalore warriors dressed in waiters' tuxes pushed past him into the stateroom.

"Hey!" The Diva's manager raised his voice in indignant protest...

...and took three bullets in the chest.

?

In the concert hall the music was swelling to higher and higher realms of ecstasy.

Suddenly the Diva opened her eyes and flinched in pain, as if she had been shot...

?

In Daisuke's room, Ken suddenly cried out in pain- as if the bullets that had pierced the Diva's manager had pierced him as well.

?

What was that ruckus?

Koushirou was about the leave the Security Chief's office, when he heard footsteps in the corridor outside. He opened the office door a crack and peered out. The hallway was filled with Mangalores! Koushirou watched as a dozen of the hideous creatures, wearing cheap tuxedos and brandishing laser riffles, stormed into the Diva's stateroom three doors down the hall.

"My God!"

He closed the office door.

?

Ken was reeling.

Panicked- as if he had suddenly seen and felt all the horror happening around him. He looked up towards the ceiling of Daisuke's stateroom, then down toward the floor- studying the laser beam that held him prisoner.

His lovely features screwed tight with supreme concentration as he gripped the beam of light in his hands-

And it became solid!

He shattered it, freeing his wrist. Then, using the beam as a battering ram, he knocked a hole in the ceiling.

He jumped up and grabbed the edge of the hole, then pulled himself through, into the crawl space.

And was gone.

?

Koushirou ran across the Security Chief's office towards the closet.

He opened the door.

There was the Chief, bound and gagged, where the priest had left him.

"Mangalores!" said Koushirou breathlessly. "In the Diva's suite! They want the Sacred Stones! We must stop them!"

"Mmm!" said the Chief through the duct tape that bound his mouth. He held up his hands, tied with his own necktie.

Koushirou bent down and started tugging at the knot.

"I'm going to free you, but you must promise to help me!"

The Chief nodded his agreement.

He kept his hands together so that Koushirou wouldn't notice that his fingers were crossed.

?

"I have it!"

The Mangalore looked up in triumph from the suitcase he was ripping apart. On the floor beside him, the Diva's manager lay in a pool of blood.

The Mangalore warriors had totally trashed the Diva's room, looking for the Sacred Stones.

And now, at last success!

The lucky Mangalore warrior held up a gold and ivory box, engraved with the icons of the four elements- earth, air, fire and water.

He was just about to open it when he heard a commotion above him.

Another Element- this one dedicated to life and peace- was descending from a hole he had ripped in the ceiling panels with one mighty sweep of his delicate hand.

"Apipoulai!" Ken said, as he dropped into the stateroom like an avenging angel.

?

At that precise moment, the Diva Plavalagumi changed both the key and the tempo of her song. Her soaring sonata segued into a funky dance number, picking up the beat and rocking the house.

?

One of the Mangalore warriors whipped out a knife.

A big knife; a giant knife; a monster knife.

He moved on Ken.

He disarmed him and disabled him with one elegantly graceful (but intensely painful) kick. The other Mangalores moved in, armed with knives.

Ken kicked.

And sent one warrior flying into the giant cactus which the Diva had brought with her.

Another Mangalore dived at him.

Ken spun and kicked him right out of the Diva's door.

His kicks and spins became a dance, matching the diva's rocking beat, and the Mangalores fell back, one by one, bloodied and broken.

More Mangalore warriors moved in.

But the music picked up the tempo again, and Ken became a whirling dervish, smashing Mangalores against the walls.

With one Mangalore dazed in front of him, Ken lined himself up for a spectacular finishing blow; behind the indigo haired boy another warrior stumbled towards him, with killing intent.

Ken smiled sweetly at the dazed creature before releasing a punch which firstly smashed into the face of the Mangalore behind him before flying forward and burying itself in the face of the Mangalore in front of him.

?

In the Concert Hall, the Diva finished her song, throwing her arms out to the side and at the same time up in the Diva's room Ken mirrored the move.

The crowds' applause was thunderous as the house jumped to its feet.

Ken and the Diva bowed to their respective audiences, one enthralled and cheering the other groaning pitifully.

?

But one Mangalore had escaped.

He slipped out of the door and ran down the corridor, toward the Concert Hall. He found Akanit and his warriors standing motionless in the lobby outside the Concert Hall. Even they had been transfixed by the Diva's music.

"It was an ambush!" the escaped Mangalore whispered into Akanit's drooping doglike ear.

Akanit heard the story and his already deformed face grew even more monstrous with rage.

"If it's war they want, it's war they'll get!"

He nodded to his hideous warriors.

"Lock and load!"

They clocked their ZF1s.

_End Chapter 10_

**End Note:** Did you listen to the song at the same time as reading? I was listening to it while I was writing it, it made the experience pretty fun to be fair! In face I'm still listening to it now! Now don't forget to R&R my lovelies! And I'll see you again soon! :D

**Priest Vito Cornelius**: You're a monster, Zorg.  
**Zorg**: I know.

Laters!


End file.
